A Much Needed Vacation
by Shauna Lee
Summary: Follows Another Day another Case, then Home Again Home Again follows this one. Finished! Sara and Ian end up in Mexico when Dante makes Sara take some of her vacation time. I hope you enjoy. Please R/R
1. Disclaimer

Title: A much-needed Vacation  
  
Author: Shauna Lee  
  
Pairing: Ian and Sara, of course  
  
Rating: I'll play it safe and say PG for minor swearwords, but I may have to change it to NC-17 if Ian and Sara get out of hand. Strange things happen to people's minds after one too many coconuts…  
  
  
  
Standard disclaimer applies: I don't own Sara, Ian, Jake, Irons or any other of the Witchblade characters. Top Cow owns them. I can only wish I was that creative. I can only lay claim to the incidental characters I made up to further the idea Witchblade has sparked in my head.  
  
Please review and let me know what you think. I am interested in honest and constructive criticism of my work, and if you like it, I'll post more.  
  
For those of you, especially Divamercury, who posted such nice reviews to Another Day, Another Case I want to give my thanks. I don't generally let other people read my stuff because I am way too attached to it, and I don't take criticism well. It's mainly because of your positive feedback I am writing this one. I hope you enjoy!  
  
Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 1

As requested, here's more of my personal take on Sara and Ian's friendship. Events occur about 2 or 3 weeks after Another Day. I'm not sure yet where this one is going, it sort of snuck up on me and landed in my head while I was checking on my e-mail earlier today. I am finding a lot of my stories happen like that. As always, please let me know what you think  
  
  
  
  
  
Shadows flowed over him like a second skin as he graced the night with his presence. Every sense alert, he stalked through the darkness as if he and he alone owned the night, a dark angel full of grace and deadly beauty. Other, lesser predators scrambled clumsily out of his path, giving this Lord of Shadows wide berth on his nightly hunt. He ascended through the gloom towards the light, his goal, his beacon, knowing he would find his prey there, alone and defenseless against him.  
  
He sighted her, his bright angel, as he alighted silently on the platform. The only barrier between them a single, fragile pane of glass. He paused for a moment to drink in her brightness, her beauty drawing him like a moth to a flame. Desire flowed through him, intoxicating him, calling the angel of darkness to this angel of light. She was as yet unaware of him as the barrier between them yielded easily to his skills and he made ready to enter when suddenly, this mighty predator of the night was brought low.  
  
He sneezed. Twice. Violently.  
  
It sent him careening backwards as he lost his footing and landed on his behind on her fire escape. Sara sprang up from the couch where she had been going through some paperwork and ran to the window, offering him a hand up. He took it with a sheepish grin and followed her back into the apartment, wincing slightly when he moved wrong and discovered bruised muscles.  
  
"You okay, Ian," Sara asked, a bit concerned.  
  
"The worst bruise is to my pride, Sara," he replied as he sat gingerly on her couch.  
  
"I was getting worried. You're late."  
  
"Last minute errand for Irons," Ian sighed, then breathed deeply. "Something smells good. What's for dinner?"  
  
"Pork chops and mashed potatoes. One of the few things I can cook, and I hardly ever make it because it just doesn't work for one person. I was worried the pork chops would dry out."  
  
"Dessert," Ian said, pulling a pint of Ben & Jerry's out from a coat pocket. "As requested, my lady."  
  
"Thanks, Ian." Sara accepted his gift and popped it into the freezer. Ian helped dish up and soon they were sitting companionably at her small table.  
  
"This is really good, Sara," Ian said earnestly.  
  
"Oh, come on," Sara shot back. "You get gourmet meals from Irons' cook every day. This can't be as good a that."  
  
"Yes, but he never adds the spice of friendship to his dishes," Ian replied.  
  
"Ian, that's sweet." She sat back to regard him for a minute. It had only been a few weeks since they had agreed to be friends, after the Kingsman case, but she felt more at ease with him now than anyone else. She had only been this comfortable with Joe, her father, and Danny. Ian was helping her cope with the visions the Witchblade sent to her, his answers tangled in riddles less and less. She was able to get a good night's sleep more often because of it, something for which she was profoundly grateful. And now when Irons sent him to keep an eye on her, he did so in a manner that helped her, or when she wasn't working he was a companion. Tonight was one of many evenings they had shared lately, and she found that on the nights he wasn't with her she missed his company. Which brought her to her next confession.  
  
"Ian," she began. He sensed something in her tone and laid down his fork to give her his undivided attention. "I just got word today that I have too much vacation time accrued, and Dante is making me take some of it. He's probably as sick of seeing me as I am of him. Starting a week from Monday I have an entire ten days off."  
  
"What will you do, Sara?" Ian looked curious.  
  
"I haven't decided," she admitted. "I don't really have the funds to travel, but I don't want to stick in town either. I was thinking of asking my cousin if I could stay at his condo in Puerto Vallarta."  
  
"Mexico," Ian asked, shocked and dismayed. "So far away?"  
  
"I've never been to Mexico, I'm sick of the cold, and I don't have any cousins in Florida."  
  
"But," he was nearing panic. "Mexico?"  
  
"Sure," she shrugged. "Why not?"  
  
"It's so far away," he said.  
  
"You said that already, Ian. Relax, I haven't made any plans yet. I just found out today. I may be stuck in the city anyway, if my cousin is using his condo. I can't afford both plane fare and a hotel, even if they are dirt-cheap in Mexico."  
  
"Mexico…" Ian muttered, picked up his fork, and continued eating.  
  
"It really bothers you to think I might go away on a vacation, doesn't it," she half-asked, half-demanded in that amused-irritated tone that Ian thought she should get patented, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
"How will I protect you when you are so far away, Sara," he asked, his voice almost pleading.  
  
"I suppose you could get Irons to send you along to protect me," she mused, though not too seriously. "I bet you've never had a vacation before either."  
  
"You would win that bet," Ian admitted, but he had a gleam in his eye. She may not have been serious about him coming along, but Ian was willing to bet if he presented it just right he could get Irons to send him anyway. He kept the idea percolating in the back of his mind as they watched a movie together, and then he took his leave of her. He stayed outside her window long enough to be sure she was settled in bed, then made his way back to the mansion to report in.  
  
"And how is our fair Sara tonight, Ian" Irons asked. He was seated before his fireplace, the chessboard at his elbow, a glass of wine in his hand, the wolfhounds at his feet. He was every inch the sleek, regal king in his own environment. In any environment, really. Ian stood, head bowed, a few paces in front of him, giving his nightly report, much doctored. Irons would be furious with his growing friendship with Sara, Ian knew, so he left a few things out of his reports.  
  
"She is well. I believe she is becoming used to the visions at last. She seems to be sleeping better."  
  
"I have felt this as well," Irons replied. "She seems more…balanced of late."  
  
"I have heard something that may interest you, Sir," Ian offered. "Captain Dante is making Sara take a mandatory vacation."  
  
"Indeed?" Irons was interested. "Perhaps we should invite her to dinner."  
  
"I believe she intends to leave town, Sir," Ian told his master, and Irons sat up suddenly.  
  
"Leave town? Where to?"  
  
"I heard Mexico mentioned, Sir, but as she has just found out she is taking this vacation I do not think her plans are set."  
  
"Well," Irons mused, considering all the angles carefully. "Perhaps a vacation in a sunny clime would do our fair Sara some good. She works too hard. She is of no use to me if she burns herself out. You are to watch this situation closely, Ian."  
  
Ian nodded his understanding and left the room quickly. He didn't want Irons to see the smile on his face. Irons had once told Ian that he knew not his master, but in some things Irons was all too predictable. Ian knew all it would take would be a concerned inquiry about the Witchblade's safety in a foreign country, and he would be dispatched to shadow Sara on her vacation. That is, if she actually got to go somewhere. He was trying to come up with a way to insure she got the trip she wanted as he drifted off into sleep. 


	3. Chapter 2

Hi All! Thanks for reviewing. So far all the comments have been very positive. And I just had to steal that thought of the sombrero from the Three Amigos (my boyfriend loves that movie – thanks for the reminder). I try to keep up with my stories, but it's been sunny out here in Seattle finally, and there has been a ton of yard work to get done on top of all the regular stuff, so thank you for waiting.  
  
I'm trying to keep the Mexico parts as close to authentic as possible. My dad actually retired to Lo de Marcos, and I was there last November, so I have a lot of good first-hand details for the story. That's why Sara isn't vacationing in Hawaii—I haven't been there!  
  
  
  
  
  
Sara walked up the hall to her apartment door, tired after a long day of work, mostly paperwork. Somehow that always tired her out more than chasing down suspects. Not looking forward to the prospect of fixing dinner, she was considering ordering a pizza when something pulled her out of her thoughts. She paused, listening, trying to figure out what had alerted her. She heard a clatter from inside her apartment and pulled her gun. As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door and peered inside, relaxing when she caught sight of Ian's coat draped conspicuously over the railing. Holstering her gun, she came in and draped her own coat over the railing next to his and tossed her helmet on the couch.  
  
"How was your day, Sara," Ian asked from the kitchen. Even though he knew exactly what she had been doing, he asked her anyway because it was a normal thing to do in their extremely abnormal lives.  
  
"Long and dull," she answered, coming in to the kitchen to peer over his shoulder while he stirred something in a pan on the stove. "What are you making?"  
  
"Allyson taught me how to make stir-fry," he replied. "I hope I'm doing it right."  
  
"How is Allyson doing," Sara asked, leaning against the counter to watch Ian cook.  
  
"Fine." Ian tossed a handful of sesame seeds into the mix. "She said to tell you hi, and to remind you to visit soon. She's got a new contract for a big company, revamping all their web sites. Her advance will pay her rent for the next five months."  
  
"That's great," Sara said, impressed. "Maybe I should have gone into computers."  
  
"You're a born warrior Sara, its in your blood," Ian reminded her, dishing his creation onto two plates and handing one to Sara. He had already set the table and poured the wine, and there was still ice cream from the night before in the freezer. "You would have gone mad at a desk job."  
  
"True," she conceded as they sat down at the table. He watched, eager and apprehensive, as she took a bite. Her eyebrows went up and she looked at him in approval. "Ian, this is really good. Way better than the stuff from around the corner." He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and smiled in relief.  
  
"Thank you, Sara. I was worried," he admitted. "I really haven't done this before. I only helped Allyson the one time."  
  
"You mean this was your first try?" She stared in disbelief. "Damn, Ian, you should have been a chef."  
  
"Thank you, Sara," he said, a shy smile on his face.  
  
"My God, Ian," Sara teased. "Are you blushing? Well, will wonders never cease." She grinned at him.  
  
"Assassins don't blush, Sara," he shot back with a grin, his tone mock- stern.  
  
"I guess you'll have to settle for being a man, then, Ian" she replied.  
  
"That wouldn't be so bad," he replied softly, a look of yearning in his eyes for a moment, then he looked down at his plate. Sara stared at him for a moment, then laid down her fork.  
  
"Ian," she asked, waiting until he looked up at her before continuing. "Are you saying you have feelings for me? More than friendship?" The look in his eyes was that of a cornered animal.  
  
"Yes, Sara," he said softly. "Are you angry?"  
  
"Of course not," she replied promptly, and he relaxed a bit. "You can't help what you feel. It just happens. But you understand I'm not ready to take it to the next level yet?" He nodded. "I am still getting to know you as a friend, and its too soon to be more. Are you okay with that?"  
  
"Yes, Sara. I can wait, forever if I have to. I am enjoying being your friend. That is enough." He smiled shyly over at her, and she smiled back.  
  
"I'm enjoying being your friend too, Ian. You're very good company." She picked up her fork again. "It doesn't hurt that you're a great cook too."  
  
"I had better learn how to cook something else now, or you'll get awful tired of stir-fry," he replied, and she laughed. The awkward moment was over, and Sara felt better for having defined their new relationship. Communication was important, and she hoped this would avoid misunderstandings.  
  
"My cousin e-mailed me back while I was at work today," She told him. "I can use his place in Mexico for my vacation if I want."  
  
"Have you already gotten your plane ticket," he asked.  
  
"Nope. Didn't have time. Why?"  
  
"When you said I could get Irons to send me along, I know you were not being serious," he began. "But I could arrange it, if you would like the company. It is your choice, Sara."  
  
She stared at him for a moment, taken by surprise. Thinking through it, she concluded that she hadn't really been looking forward to traveling to an unfamiliar country alone, and she found the prospect of his company pleasant. She would feel much better if her were there, watching out for her and keeping her from getting lonely. Then she got an image in her head and burst out laughing. Ian looked at her strangely, torn between being hurt and wondering if she had lost her marbles.  
  
"What is so amusing, Sara," he asked.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ian," she chuckled. "From out of nowhere this image of you in a black and silver sombrero and black swim trunks popped into my head, and for some reason it was funny." He nodded. That Steve Martin movie had been on cable a few nights ago, so it was no wonder she thought of the sombrero.  
  
"I can get a sombrero if you would like, Sara," he replied soberly, but his eyes were mischievous. "But unfortunately my swim trunks aren't black."  
  
"Oh?" She waited for him to elaborate, one eyebrow raised questioningly.  
  
"When I swim I don't tend to wear swim trunks, actually. But the pair I have is dark blue."  
  
"My my, Ian. A closet exhibitionist," she teased. She was having a hard time pushing aside the mental images his revelation created, and she knew she'd have some interesting dreams tonight. Ian was too handsome by half, and when he smiled his eyes lit up and he was the most sensually gorgeous creature she had ever seen. Sometimes she was tempted to pounce on him and scruples be damned, but she didn't want to ruin the friendship they had by rushing into things. She had a tendency to rush into relationships only to find she and her partner weren't compatible. The breakups had always been bad. Really bad. She didn't just want a partner in the sack, she wanted a lasting relationship, and she definitely didn't want to screw up the friendship she and Ian had together by moving too fast.  
  
"You know, Ian, I've never seen you wear anything but black."  
  
"My clothes suit the job, Sara," he said, shrugging.  
  
"Yes, but you're so much more than the job, Ian," she told him. He looked at her, a smile growing on his face. That was easily the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.  
  
"If you wish, my lady," he said, "I will add some color to my wardrobe. I'll get red underwear."  
  
Sara burst out laughing, and he joined her. His sense of humor showed itself at odd times. Sara found it refreshing, and a welcome change from the riddle-spouting enigma he had been when she first knew him.  
  
"You know, Ian, you had better get Irons to send you along to keep an eye on me. I don't think I would survive a week without you making me laugh."  
  
"You really want me to go?"  
  
"Yeah," she said. "I do." His eyes lit up and she forgot to breathe for a moment. She kept doing that, she mused. What would she do when she saw him in those swim trunks for the first time? Images of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation flashed past her inner eye, and she sternly told herself not to go there.  
  
"Then it shall be arranged," he said. "Give me the address to your cousin's condo, and I shall see to everything."  
  
"You don't have to do that, Ian," she said.  
  
"I do it for Irons all the time," he replied. "I'm very efficient. And I have been to Puerto Vallarta before, so I know what to plan for. Leave it in my hands, Sara," he asked. "Trust me."  
  
"Alright, Ian," she conceded. "But remember I'm on a budget."  
  
"As you wish," he replied, but thought to himself, I'm not.  
  
  
  
Irons was reading before the fireplace when Ian came home to report in that night. He put down his book as Ian stood before him, head down as customary.  
  
"How is our lady this evening," Irons asked.  
  
"She is excited about her upcoming trip," he said.  
  
"So she is gong to Mexico after all?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral.  
  
"Where will she be staying?" Irons trusted Ian to have done the appropriate research.  
  
"Her cousin has a small home north of Puerto Vallarta, in a little town called Lo de Marcos. It is on the coast, only a block from the beach. Since he will not be using the place at that time he has granted Sara the use of it."  
  
"What is your assessment of the situation?" Irons was watching Ian from the corner of his eye while staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. Irons was the picture of control and culture, to be sure, and never a hair out of place. Powerful, rich, charming. But he wasn't the one Sara had shared dinner with. Ian controlled a smile carefully.  
  
"She has never been to Mexico, Sir. Yet the area is close enough to Puerto Vallarta to be tourist friendly. But she will have to drive over an hour to get there. Also there is the question of sickness. She may fall prey to the bacteria that inhabit the water there and succumb to Traveler's Sickness. The climate is fair, the weather clear and likely to remain so, and the ocean is warm. I believe she will have a very relaxing vacation if she does not fall ill."  
  
"Indeed," Irons mused. He was silent for several minutes, turning the situation over and over in his mind to study it from every angle. Ian stood perfectly still, accustomed to waiting.  
  
"Well, if our lady is determined to go, I want her to have a safe vacation." Irons smiled. "I do not want her to come back more tired than she left. See that all goes smoothly for her trip, Ian, and go along to keep an eye on her. I wouldn't want a stranger tending her if she fell ill."  
  
"My other duties," Ian began, seeming reluctant, only to be cut off by Irons.  
  
"They can wait until you return. There isn't anything coming up that I need your exceptional skills for, Ian. The Wielder must be protected at all costs. Besides, I have grown fond of the lovely Sara, even though she is far too headstrong, and I want her to have a good time. You can insure no one bothers her. Purchase whatever you need, do whatever you have to, but see that she enjoys herself, Ian. Now go."  
  
Ian nodded and left, very pleased at the outcome. He had not expected Irons to be quite so vehement in his insistence that Sara have a pleasant trip, but that worked to his advantage. Now that he had permission, he could arrange all to his satisfaction. He found visions of Sara in a bathing suit popping into his head and grinned in anticipation. Yes, he was going to see that she had fun, but he would enjoy the trip just as much.  
  
He sat down at the computer in his room and searched for the right flights, booking them seats on a flight that had a short layover in Phoenix, but didn't have them changing planes. Less chance for their luggage to get lost. He then sent a message to a contact in Puerto Vallarta who oversaw the maintenance on Irons' estate in the hills above the city, giving him the address of Sara's cousin's place and a list of things to do. Another message to certain Mexican authorities, warning them that a lady friend of his employer was going to be vacationing and that the local authorities had better leave her alone or their latest military contract with Vorschlag could be in jeopardy. Finally, he shopped for appropriate clothes and personal supplies, arranging for them to be delivered the next day. Satisfied, he took himself off to bed and dreamed pleasant dreams of Sara playing in the warm, sparkling surf of a creamy crescent beach, smiling at him with her green eyes dancing. He slept very well. 


	4. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! It's incredibly encouraging. I hope you enjoy this little bit just as much!  
  
  
  
Sara stared at the plane ticket Ian had handed her with something akin to dismay. They had already finished their dinner, and were watching tv comfortably together on the couch, when he had pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. He was waiting patiently for the expected protests, and he wasn't disappointed.  
  
"Ian, I can't afford this," Sara told him, trying to hand it back. "It's first class."  
  
"It is a gift, Sara," he said.  
  
"I don't want a gift from Irons," she protested. He shook his head, dark curls falling into his eyes.  
  
"It isn't from him, it is from me."  
  
"But it's too much, Ian."  
  
"I don't think so," he said gently. "You have given me so much pleasure in our evenings together, our friendship. And you are giving me the opportunity to have a real vacation, something I have never had before. Please allow me to do this for you, Sara. It would make me very happy." He turned his pleading gaze on her, and she felt her resistance melt away.  
  
"Thank you, Ian," she said with real feeling.  
  
"It is my pleasure, Sara," he said, a humorous glint in his eye now. "I was not looking forward to flying coach. Besides, Mr. Irons has ordered me to see that you enjoy your vacation."  
  
"He knows we are going together?" She was shocked.  
  
"No. I'm afraid that would not please him at all. I am to observe you as always, and see that no one interferes with you. I managed to convince him it would be a bad thing if you were to fall ill in a foreign country with no one but strangers to aid you."  
  
"You're sneaky, Ian," Sara told him approvingly. "But won't Irons notice the tickets were purchased together?"  
  
"He might if they had been," Ian agreed with a grin. "But according to the records at the airline your ticket was purchased by you, I have a seat in coach, and the seat next to yours will be occupied by a Mr. Alex Richards."  
  
"How did you manage that," she asked, impressed. He grinned.  
  
"You said it yourself. I'm sneaky," Ian reminded her. Sara laughed.  
  
  
  
"Mr. Richards, Ms. Pezzini, have a good flight," the gate attendant said pleasantly, if mechanically, as she handed back the tickets and turned to the next couple in line behind them. Sara and Ian walked down the ramp together to the plane, stowed their carry-on luggage, and sat down. Ian was attempting to look bored, but he was actually filled with a child-like excitement to be going on his first vacation. It only made it better that he was going with Sara. She didn't bother to try and hide her excitement, all but bouncing in her seat as the other passengers continued to board.  
  
"I still can't believe they won't let you have tweezers in your carry-on luggage," Sara mused. Ian had arrived at her apartment half an hour before they were scheduled to leave for the airport and given her the rundown on the new security measures, which had prompted a bit of a hasty repack. The cab had arrived precisely on time, and gotten them to the airport with the prescribed hour and a half leeway before departure. Turned out it was a good thing, because the lines at check-in were long and lines at the security checkpoint were longer. Ian had left her briefly at security, saying he would meet her at the gate, and disappeared. True to his word, he fell into step again with her near their gate on the other side of security. She was curious about that, but let it pass, figuring he'd explain if he wanted to.  
  
"You will find it even harder to believe when they give you an aluminum knife and fork with your lunch," Ian said. "Their security measures do not make sense sometimes."  
  
"You're kidding," she said. "I'd have thought if they wouldn't let you bring tweezers onboard we'd all be getting plastic silverware."  
  
"They get plastic in coach," Ian shrugged. "I suppose they figure anyone in First Class is too important to hijack a plane."  
  
"I've never heard of someone trying to hijack a plane with silverware anyway," Sara observed.  
  
"No one but a lunatic acting on the spur of the moment would even consider it."  
  
"I bet there aren't any hijackers on this plane," Sara teased him with a grin. "I bet you did background checks on everyone to be sure we'd be safe." Ian just looked at her, and her smile faltered. "You did?"  
  
"Of course not," he answered, breaking into a grin of his own. "But the look on your face…"  
  
"Oh you," she scolded, mock-punching his arm. One of the flight attendants came over and offered drinks. Ian opted for water, while Sara asked for a coffee.  
  
"We should be taking off in about ten minutes," the attendant informed them as she brought their beverages in real glasses. "The in-flight meal will be served about half an hour after that."  
  
"Thanks," Sara said. She noticed the woman's gaze lingered on Ian as he smiled politely. "She likes you," Sara leaned over and said after the attendant left.  
  
"Why would she like me," he asked back. "She doesn't know me."  
  
"She thinks you're a stud," Sara replied. "Face it, Ian, you're a great looking guy. Especially when you dress like that." Abandoning his somber wardrobe for their vacation, Ian was dressed in a sharp burgundy mock-neck of silk and charcoal-gray slacks. His habitual black duster was replaced by a sleek leather dress jacket. His hair was pulled neatly back in a pony tail, and his beard was freshly trimmed and much shorter than usual. She had stared at him for a full minute when he had arrived that morning, stunned, wondering how he could manage to look even better than before. Such a thing should have been an impossibility.  
  
"Thank you, Sara," he replied simply. He had never thought about such things, but lately he had been noticing the glances of many women and some men followed him as he went about is business. He had always shrugged it off, assuming they were just staring because he was strange and dangerous, but now he wasn't so sure. Especially after going to the men's clothing shop to pick up some much-needed color for his wardrobe. The women on the staff had practically fought over the chance to help him until the assistant manager smoothly broke things up and took care of Ian himself. He was just as glad when he finished his shopping that the rest of his purchases for the trip had been taken care of over the internet already. Used to living in the shadows, he had been distinctly uncomfortable to be the center of attention while he shopped.  
  
"What are we going to do for the next five hours until we get to Phoenix," Sara asked.  
  
"I brought a laptop with several games and a DVD player," Ian said. "After we take off we can watch a movie or we can see if there's a game on there you would like."  
  
"You think of everything, Ian." Sara was impressed. She had brought a book, but had really expected to sleep most of the way. Ian was smart, and he had an amazing store of knowledge, but he really wasn't good at long conversations. Probably because he had never had practice before, Sara mused. At least they could be comfortably silent in each other's presence. That was important, she thought.  
  
"I try, my lady," he replied gallantly. He had purchased the laptop ostensibly to keep in contact with Irons through e-mail while he was away, but he had made sure his selection was a top of the line model with all the additional features available. He had then purchased several movies he thought she would like and packed the hard drive with mp3's from her favorite groups, and some of his own. After the plane took off, and they had finished lunch, they each plugged headphones into the double-jack adapter and passed the time quite happily watching movies together. 


	5. Chapter 4

Hi All. Thanks for the continued wonderful reviews. Sorry this piece took so long to get posted. My friend (who wrote that lovely piece I posted for him) has been going thru a tough time and I've been worried about him, another friend is moving out of state, and just life in general has made it hard to concentrate on my writing lately. Since I have actually been to Lo de Marcos to visit my dad, I have pictures, so if anyone is interested, feel free to go take a peek at my web site: www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar and click the Mexico Pictures link. Some of those places defy description! More soon, I promise.  
  
  
  
Sara leaned over Ian to watch out the window as the plane made it's final descent. She was vaguely disappointed because it looked a lot like the airport in Ontario, California. Lots of palm trees and tarmac. The flight attendants were reminding everyone to take the customs paperwork with them for the officials at the gate. The plane landed smoothly, but didn't taxi up to the terminal as she expected, stopping instead about a half a mile away. There was a ladder platform and two bright red transport buses pulling up as the plane stopped rolling. Sara looked over at Ian, who didn't seem surprised in the least.  
  
"Is this common," she asked. He nodded.  
  
"There are few actual gates at this facility," he informed her. "And as the weather is almost always clear it poses no great difficulty to operate this way."  
  
"Oh," she said, thinking about it, and stood to retrieve her carry-on from the overhead bin, very glad she had a model with wheels and a handle. "What's next?"  
  
"Customs," he said as he retrieved his bag and followed her out the front exit and down the stairs. They got on the bus, which was more like a trolley, with open sides and not too many seats. The heat hit her like a wave, and Sara fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses. Ian already had his on, and didn't seem to be minding the heat, even with his leather jacket on. The humidity was high enough to help, but after winter in New York it was difficult to adjust to the ninety degree heat.  
  
As soon as the first bus was full it started rolling, taking them to the terminal. She could see a big sign labeled in several languages "Customs". As the bus stopped everyone filed out and got into line. As Sara got to the first Mexican Customs agent, he asked to see her paperwork. She handed him the forms she had filled out on the plane and her passport. He checked them over and then handed them back, asking her to continue forward. The second agent stamped the bottom third of her form and handed it back to her, stressing that she must not lose it because it would be needed for the American Customs agents when she returned home. He directed her to baggage claim, where she and Ian, who had gone through the line right behind her, gathered their luggage.  
  
They got in line again, and waited their turn at the random search machine. It looked like a traffic signal on a four foot post, but there was no yellow light. When it was Sara's turn she was asked by another official to step forward and push the button below the light. If it came up red, she would have her bags searched. It came up green, and she was passed through with a friendly smile and a wish that she enjoy her stay. Ian came through right behind her.  
  
"That wasn't too bad," Sara said as they walked into the crowded lobby, and from there out to the parking lot. "Everyone was friendly, smiling."  
  
"We Americans represent a large portion of income to their city," Ian reminded her. "They are very happy to see us." He was scanning the parking lot, looking for something. "Ah," he said, and waved to a man standing two rows out. "Come meet Mario, Sara," he invited, and started across the lot. Sara followed, curious. They approached a young Mexican man who was grinning and leaning against a green Infinity i30.  
  
"Mr. Nottingham, good to see you," Mario said in only slightly accented English, holding out a hand to shake. Ian took it and shook firmly, then held out his hand, and Mario dropped a set of keys onto his palm. "Mario, I wish to introduce to you Miss Sara Pezzini."  
  
"Hi," she said, smiling.  
  
"Welcome, Sara," Mario said earnestly. "I hope you have a pleasant vacation."  
  
"Thanks." She smiled back.  
  
"Let's get your things loaded," Mario said, giving Sara a hand with her bags, loading them into the trunk, Ian's following suit.  
  
"Bienvenido a Mexico, señorita," Mario said, smiling, and walked off. She watched him go, then turned to Ian.  
  
"Who was that, and what did he just say?"  
  
"He said 'Welcome to Mexico, miss'," Ian explained, "And he works for Mr. Irons."  
  
"I should have guessed Irons would have a place down here."  
  
"I will take you by it later, if you wish," Ian offered. "Shall we go?" He was holding open her door. She smiled at him and slid into the passenger seat. He closed her door and then got in on the driver's side, starting the car. The air conditioning kicked in, and Sara sighed.  
  
"You know how to get to my cousin's place," she asked.  
  
"I had Mario find it, and he has provided a map for us to your cousin's house." Ian pulled out of the airport parking lot and onto the road, heading away from downtown Puerto Vallarta.  
  
"If I know you that's not all he's done," Sara said, arching a brow at him in question. Ian grinned.  
  
"You seem to know me very well, my lady," Ian replied. "I had Mario check on the condition of the house with your cousin's caretaker, stocking the fridge and making sure there was plenty of bottled water. Also, I wanted to be sure the place had been most thoroughly sprayed for insects and such." He eased the car into another lane as the road got busier and appeared to merge into a highway. Sara was looking all around, but shot a sharp glance at Ian after his last comment.  
  
"Insects?"  
  
"There are several species of poisonous spiders around here, Sara," he informed her. "Not to mention the scorpions that have a habit of hiding in one's shoes, and the other pests about. I wanted to be sure you had nothing to concern you during your stay."  
  
She looked back out the window, torn between being pleased and annoyed that he had been able to access her cousin's home so easily from thousands of miles away. The land stretched away in flat brown fields inland, with a town in the distance. Towards the ocean there were more developments, capitalizing on the access to the beaches and the tourists. A few minutes later they slowed, and joined a line of cars at a checkpoint. There were uniformed soldiers with automatic rifles looking at the cars as they passed through the turn-out. Traffic slowed but did not stop as they continued forward past the guards. Occasionally the soldiers would signal a truck to pull out of line and park, and an inspection would begin.  
  
"What's this about, Ian?" Sara looked worried.  
  
"This is the border between Jalisco, where Puerto Vallarta is, and Nayarit, where we are staying. They're territories not unlike states. Mostly the guards are there to try and control smuggling."  
  
"You mean drugs," she asked.  
  
"Among other things. They don't often stop tourists, though. You see? We're through," he said, as they pulled past the guards and accelerated back on to the highway. She turned to watch the outpost recede behind them for a bit.  
  
"That's just creepy," she said, settling back into her seat. "Armed guards between states."  
  
"This isn't home, for all it is a lovely place to visit," Ian reminded her. "The government controls most aspects of life here. Gasoline and utilities are a government monopoly. Most houses don't have phones because they're too expensive, and internet café traffic is high as a result. But because of the heat there is garbage collection service three times a week, and the bottled water providers will come by every other day."  
  
You know a lot about Mexico, Ian," Sara said.  
  
"I have traveled here several times with Mr. Irons, Sara." He smiled at her. "But this is the first time I have ever had the chance to really enjoy it."  
  
"Well, I'm glad you're going to enjoy it with me." She smiled at him. "No meetings, no suits, just relaxation and sun."  
  
"That sounds good," he replied. "Very good." They drove in silence for a few more minutes.  
  
"We're coming to Bucerias," Ian said. "At the next intersection take a close look. The left turn lane is off on the right instead of at the center of the road."  
  
"That's bizarre," She said, looking at the left turn arrow on the right side of the street. The turn lane was completely off the highway and on the other side of a curb divider. It seemed to work just fine, but it was so different than what she was used to that it threw her completely.  
  
"There's a really good spice shop here in town, just down from an internet café," he told her. "If you want to get anything to take back with you let me know before we leave."  
  
"I wanted to pick up a couple bottles of tequila," she admitted. He grinned.  
  
"It will cost you more to get a good quality tequila here than in the States. Wait until you get back home and get it then. No one will know the difference. Besides, U.S. Customs will only let you bring two bottles back with you."  
  
"Only two?" She was surprised. "Well, I guess Jake's out of luck then." She thought a moment. "Is it really cheaper to get tequila back home?"  
  
"For the good stuff, yes," he affirmed.  
  
Bucerias was a small town, and they were already through it and heading up into the jungle. The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, with Ian pointing out this or that thing and Sara mostly just trying to look at everything. Finally, when they reached Lo de Marcos, they turned off the paved road onto a cobblestone street with lots of potholes. There were people and dogs about, and cars on the street, and they all watched curiously as Ian managed to weave around the bigger potholes and turned left when the road T'd at the beachfront restaurant. A few minutes later they were pulling in to a driveway with a locked gate a few blocks out of "downtown". Ian got out of the car, pulled a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the gate. He pulled the car in and parked it under a cover made of bamboo and palm fronds. They got out and looked the place over.  
  
It was a small place, with two stories, but they would only be using the bottom floor. The yard had several coconut palms with the huge nuts growing on them, and a few on the ground where they had fallen off. There was a hammock between two of them. There were flowering bushes on the right, and mostly bare ground on the left where the car was parked. A nice sized patio-style porch under cover up some steps graced the front of the house, with a table and four chairs on one side and two lounge chairs and a small refrigerator on the other. Potted plants lined the edge of the porch. Sara found a key behind one of the candle holders on either side of the front door, and they went in.  
  
Inside it was small. The front room was half kitchen and another table with chairs, and half sitting room with couch and chairs and tv. Beyond that were two bedrooms, with the small bathroom connecting the two bedrooms in the back. There were ceiling fans in every room. Sara noticed there was also no bathtub. The beds were freshly made and turned down, and everything was clean. There was an assortment of sunblocks and lotions and insect repellant in the bathroom, and a nice collection of liquors under the counter in the kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer were crammed full. There were beautiful flowers on the kitchen table.  
  
'Which room would you like, Sara," Ian asked. She thought for a moment, then picked the one on the left. They brought their bags in and changed. Sara felt much better in her swimsuit and wrap-skirt. She put her hair up to keep it off her neck, then went out to sit on the patio to enjoy the breeze. The heat wasn't so bad now that she was in cooler clothes. Ian came out a moment later in a loose indigo muscle shirt and knee-length tan shorts, his feet bare. Sara looked him over, noticing how pale his skin was and the lean muscles underneath. He had let his hair down, and the breeze played with the curls. With the exception of the pale skin he could have passed for a beach bum in his casual clothes.  
  
He handed her a glass of chilled juice and sat next to her in the other lounge chair.  
  
"Thanks, Ian," she said as she took the juice.  
  
"You will need to remember to drink a lot to keep hydrated," he said. "But remember to use only the bottled water."  
  
"Yeah," she replied. "It would really suck to get sick." She sipped her juice for a minute, looking out at the scenery, then looked back at him. "You look so different."  
  
"Does color in my clothes make such a difference," he asked, amused.  
  
"Some of it is that," she smiled back. "But you seem different, more relaxed."  
  
"I am not on call, on constant watch. I can let my guard down, and just enjoy the sights," he said, looking at her. "And what a sight it is."  
  
"Ian!" She blushed. He grinned wolfishly.  
  
"Are you hungry," he asked, changing the subject. "I saw some salami and cheese in the fridge."  
  
"That sounds good," she said, rising. "I'll cut the cheese if you handle the salami."  
  
Ian stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. When Sara realized how what she had said could be interpreted differently, she laughed too. They headed to the kitchen together in good spirits. 


	6. Chapter 5

As promised, a very short wait. Hoping you'll enjoy reading this bit as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
  
  
  
"Would you like to go check out the beach," Ian asked as they finished cleaning up after their snack.  
  
"I'd love to," she replied. "I have to get some sunscreen on though. You should too."  
  
"Yes," he agreed, looking down at his pale arms. "I tend to burn at the drop of a hat. Then it all peels and I'm white again."  
  
"There's SPF 50 in the bathroom, you know," she said, grinning.  
  
"As per my most specific request," he said, grinning back. They headed to the bathroom together, helping each other reach those spots you need a friend to get properly coated. Sara only used SPF15, since she didn't tend to burn often, and she really wanted to go back to work with a killer tan and make everyone, including Dante, jealous. Especially Dante. Sara put on a straw sun hat that almost suited her, the kind with a broad brim that don't quite look great on anyone except a grandma who has adorned it with a purple ribbon. Ian slipped on sandals, and they went out the door together.  
  
Four houses over there was a path to the beach running along the wall of an RV park, and shortly they emerged onto the most beautiful crescent of pale sand and azure water Sara had ever seen in her life. The heat of the sun was gentled by a constant breeze from the ocean, and the white beach stretched in a graceful curve a mile and a half to a rocky point. The land rose to the north and south up hills covered in lush green growth, and behind them was a line of palm trees and the town's beachfront buildings. In front of them the ocean seemed to stretch out forever. There were a few people on the beach, and some rangy dogs chasing the crabs that scuttled across the sand, and the sound of children playing occasionally rose above the rush of the surf dashing up the sand and falling back.  
  
"Wow," Sara finally said. "Its beautiful." She caught sight of a man out about fifty feet from shore doing something with a net. "What's he doing?"  
  
"Diving for octopus," Ian replied. "They go out and drop a weight with a mesh bag tied to it, then dive down their line and use a hook to catch octopi and put them in their bags. They have to be careful because the bite of an octopus is poisonous, and even a small one can kill a grown man."  
  
"Ick. I don't mind them catching squid because they aren't good for much else, and I like calamari," Sara said. "But an octopus is actually pretty smart, and they are basically gentle and shy."  
  
"I tend to agree," Ian said, "but this is how he feeds his family."  
  
They walked down the beach at the water line, the waves sometimes surging up as far as their knees. The water was surprisingly warm, and there were few shells or rocks. At the end of the beach there was a cliff wall that stretched upwards, and an outcropping of black rock that ran into the waves twenty feet or so, the waves dashing themselves against the end. There were little tide pools with small fish and crabs, and a stunning color collection of anemones. Around the other side the water ran all the way up to the cliff wall, then another beach further on up the coastline. Large scavenger birds circled in the sky, watching for dead fish to wash up on the shore. They began walking back, chatting about this or that thing they were seeing.  
  
Halfway back to their starting point the wind gusted and blew Sara's hat off her head. She grabbed for it, but missed. She jumped for it at the same time Ian did, and they collided, falling to the sand in a tangled heap of limbs and bodies, the hat clutched in Ian's hand. A wave ran up over them and Sara exclaimed good-naturedly. Ian started laughing. They climbed to their feet, dripping wet. Sara's hair had come undone and the ends were sopping, but the rest was dry, and somehow her hat was too. Ian reached up and gently pushed a stray strand out of her face and placed the hat firmly back on her head. The look in his eyes was so tender Sara had trouble looking away, until another wave rushed up the beach to slap into their legs, and she staggered, nearly losing her balance. Ian reached out to steady her.  
  
"So much for grace under pressure," she said wryly, laughing.  
  
"You know," Ian mused, a slow, wicked grin growing on his face, "we're already wet…" Before she could react he swept her up in his strong arms and began wading out into the water. She shrieked and kicked her legs, holding her hat on with one hand. He stopped when he was waist-deep in the water.  
  
"Ian, don't you dare," she warned. His grin widened. "What about my hat," she asked in a last futile attempt to dissuade him from dunking her.. He dropped her and snatched her hat from her head simultaneously. She landed in the water with a satisfying splash and came up sputtering, slinging water from her hair with a flip of her head, to find Ian standing there with a gleam in his eye, hands on his hips, grin on his lips, and her hat on his head. It looked so silly she burst out laughing, just before she ducked under the waves and pulled his legs out from under him. He went down with a satisfying splash and came up laughing to find her watching with a smile. He had the hat in his hand, dripping wet now.  
  
"Wait here a moment," he said, and slogged out of the waves to carefully place her hat on a log to dry, weighting the edges with rocks so it wouldn't blow away, then dashed back, hitting the water in a flat dive that skimmed the sand beneath the water. Sara held her breath just in time as he pulled her under. The few people on the beach watched with great amusement the mighty water battle that ensued. Fifteen minutes later the two combatants sloshed out of the water to collapse on the log together next to Sara's hat, exhausted and happy. Sara leaned against Ian, her head on his shoulder, smiling as she stared out at the ocean and sky. He hesitated a moment, then carefully wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his strong fingers running gently over her wet hair. They sat like that for almost half an hour, just enjoying being there together.  
  
"I think my hat is dry," she said finally. "Shall we go back?"  
  
"As my lady wishes, he said teasingly, but the look in his eyes was solemn. As they headed back along the sand and up the path he dared to reach out and take her hand, and she laced her fingers through his and smiled up at him. 


	7. Chapter 6

Again, thanks for all the wonderful reviews. This took a bit of doing to post since I couldn't log in for a bit. Fanfiction's daily back-ups and all that, only they don't tell you that if you go straight to the Witchblade section to log in from a bookmark, only if you go in to the main page. Hope you all are enjoying this, despite the lack of action. I was thinking Sara and Ian needed a real break, and a chance to get to know each other before falling into the sack in a tangle of sweaty limbs, but let me know if you're getting bored. At the end of this chapter, if you're curious about what caused Ian to fall out of bed, refer to "Ian Dreaming"…  
  
  
  
They were nearly dry by the time they reached the house again. The sun would set in an hour or so, and Sara was getting hungry. Ian pressed more water on her and drained a large glass himself. Then they changed into different clothes. Sara put on a tank top of azure cotton with subtle shading patterns of leaves, and a printed skirt in the same blue and green color scheme. She had pulled her hair up so it was out of her face and fastened it back with a silver barrette. Ian came out of his room in a loose, deep red cotton shirt that looked like something out of a romance novel, but with buttons instead of lacings. He hadn't bothered to button it all the way up, and hints of his strong chest showed through the gap. The shirt was tucked into black pants, and he had tied a black scarf shot with silver threads around the waist like a belt. With his hair tumbling down around his face and the deep red of the shirt accenting the brown of his eyes, he was breathtaking. Sara looked him up and down, a smile growing on her lips.  
  
"Ian, you look gorgeous," she said approvingly. He smiled back at her.  
  
"Thank you, my lady," he responded. "You are resplendent this evening. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" He offered his hand, which she took.  
  
"Where are we going?" They walked back out of the house arm in arm.  
  
"The restaurant on the beach you saw. We will have a wonderful view of the sunset."  
  
"You know, Ian," she mused, "you have a remarkable grasp of the romantic for a bodyguard."  
  
"Waiting around while Irons is in meetings affords me ample time to read," he replied. "You would be amazed how easy it is to get a paperback into a suit coat's inside pocket."  
  
"You're kidding," she laughed.  
  
"Well, I have my pockets enlarged, but still. I take two books, one for each side, to keep things balanced." Ian shot a sideways glance at her. She was laughing.  
  
"I'm not sure whether I should believe you or not."  
  
"Remind me to show you sometime," he said, smiling back. He was joking, but he loved hearing her laugh, and he loved more being the cause of it. They walked into town down the cobbled streets, and Sara got a good look around this time. There seemed to be only about twelve blocks to the whole town, two on either side of the main street, running three blocks long. There were flowers of amazing colors and sizes growing in front of and within every yard, and most of the houses were painted bright colors. People were walking about, calling cheerfully to each other, stopping to chat in groups. Up the main street were the shops, all open to the evening air.  
  
Sara noticed a painting of something that looked like the fabric softener bear with yellow, blue, and red circles below it, and the word "bimbo" in capital letters below it. She stared at it for a bit, trying to figure it out, then finally asked Ian.  
  
"Bimbo means bread, Sara," he told her, smiling. "That's one of the best- selling brands. Something akin to our Wonder bread."  
  
"You're kidding," she said. "All these years we've been calling our dumb blonds 'bread'?"  
  
"In America it's slang, here it's food. Different culture."  
  
When they reached the restaurant, Ian exchanged words with the young woman who seated them in a quick flurry of Spanish that Sara couldn't follow. The tables were set up directly on the beach, well up from the high tide line, and as Sara sat down the legs of her plastic chair sank into the sand a bit. Overhead there was a bamboo and palm frond construction that would effectively protect diners from the sun or rain. She learned that these constructions were very inexpensive and sturdy, and called palapas. An effectively made palapa would last years.  
  
Ian translated the menu for Sara, and she decided to have shrimp with garlic. Ian ordered a spicy fish. Sara decided to try a Pacifico, and Ian ordered a Coca-cola. Their drinks were served in the bottles, no glasses. They enjoyed the breezes off the ocean as they watched the sun sink lower towards the horizon. Mariachis started to play softly, circulating through the tables, hoping the diners would buy a song. Many did, trading twenty pesos for a special song to sing along with or dance to. Sara watched them curiously until their food came.  
  
"Before you start eating, Sara," Ian said, putting his words into action. "Take your slice of lime and rub it on your fork. The acidic juice from the lime lessens the chances of catching something from the wash water enormously." She watched him for a moment, then picked up her lime wedge and followed suit. Her shrimp were served over a bed of rice, with beans on the side. Ian's fish was served cleaned but otherwise whole, and spiced heavily. He scraped the meat downward from the gills off the bones and proceeded to eat. When he finished the one side he flipped the fish over and did the same to the other side.  
  
As they ate the sun sank into the waves in a spectacular display of fiery color and hues of reds and purples and oranges she had thought were only achieved by special effects in Hollywood. She had only seen something like it at the movies before, and it was easily the most beautiful sunset she had ever witnessed. Ian spent most of the time watching her drinking it in, enjoying the combination of changing light and expression on her face. She caught him staring and he blinked and looked away quickly, blushing.  
  
The night insects started to buzz, and the Mariachis came by to see if the handsome gringo couple would buy a song. Ian smiled and handed over a twenty peso coin and asked for something slow they could dance to. He took Sara's hand and drew her to her feet, and as the music started he pulled her into his arms. She wrapped one arm around his back and took his hand with the other, and they swayed together to the music. The smell of her hair, still warm from the sun and scented with salt from the ocean, drifted into his nostrils, and he breathed deep. Sara sighed and laid her head against his shoulder.  
  
There was clapping and whistles of appreciation for them as the song ended, good natured and friendly approval from the locals. Ian handed Sara back to her seat, trying not to turn bright red. He was not used to being the center of attention, especially in so public a place, but it had been worth it. Sara's green eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, and he felt worthy of her company, felt he could truly make her happy, for the first time. He had never been sure if, in this life, he could rise to the challenge of being a partner to her, rather than guardian servant. His upbringing had not taught him the skills. All he had to guide him was the burning desire for her acceptance, and perhaps in time, her love, and the dreams he had of them together in other lives.  
  
"Would you care to walk with me, my lady," he asked, signaling for the check. "We could explore the town a bit. See if we can find the zocolo."  
  
"What's a zocolo," she asked as Ian counted out bills for their meal. He left a generous tip.  
  
"It's like a town square. Every Saturday night the whole town gathers to listen to music and dance. Mariachis play, and people drink from coconuts and wear flowers. Every town has one."  
  
"That sounds neat." He gave her a hand up from her seat and they walked out of the restaurant and back to the main cobbled street. Her fingers were warm on his arm as they walked up the main street and found what must be the zocolo. It was a circular area in the middle of town, with a raised area for a stage on one end and benches around the rim of the place where people would dance. There were flowers everywhere. Young couples strolled around, or sat on the benches, trading kisses and watching the stars. Soft calls of "Buenas noches" echoed through the town as friends and neighbors bid each other goodnight.  
  
They headed back to the house together, and sat on the porch to enjoy the beautiful evening. Ian spent a few minutes composing and e-mailing a report to Irons, much doctored to hide the fact that he was doing more than observing the Wielder from a distance. Sara lay back in the lounge chair, staring up at the geckos that scurried across the stucco ceiling. The little lizards snapped up the bugs foolish enough to land near, scuttling across the white ceiling and walls with amazing speed in pursuit of their dinner. After Ian put away his laptop and came to sit in the chair next to hers she turned to watch the fireflies flitting through the bushes. The faint roar of the ocean could be heard as a constant background to the droning of the night insects. They sat companionably for a while, just relaxing in the warm night. Finally Sara stirred and pointed out into the night.  
  
"I've never seen fireflies before," she commented. "I always thought they were orange or yellow. These are more like blue-white."  
  
"Depends on the species," Ian said. Sara smiled, not surprised he would know something about them. A huge yawn took her by surprise, popping her jaw. Ian yawned too, unable to help himself.  
  
"I'm beat from the flight," Sara said, climbing to her feet, and Ian rose with her. "I'm heading for bed." She headed inside to her bedroom, Ian locking the front door and shutting off the lights before heading to his. Sara paused at her bedroom door.  
  
"Ian, thank you for all you've done. For arranging things, and for dinner, everything. My vacation would have been horrible without you." She walked over to him and gave him a quick hug, kissed his cheek. "I'm really glad you could come with me."  
  
"The pleasure is mine, lady Sara," he replied, his face flaming red.  
  
"Sleep well, Ian," she said.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Sara," he replied. She smiled, feeling a bit shy, and went into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Ian settled in to his own room. He stripped off his clothes, then pulled on a pair of loose black sleep pants and headed to the bathroom. Checking to be sure Sara wasn't in there, he entered their shared bathroom, flipping on the light to brush his teeth and so forth, checking to be sure there was a supply of bottled water to use. The bathroom door to Sara's room wasn't completely closed, so he went over to close it so he wouldn't disturb her. He caught a glimpse of her sitting on her bed, her back to him as she brushed out her long chestnut hair. She was wearing a light white satin nightgown. Pulling back quickly, he closed the door as quietly as he could. Rushing through the rest of his nightly tasks, he retreated back to his room and slipped beneath the covers. A few minutes later he could hear Sara in the bathroom, then silence descended on the house as she climbed into bed and clicked off her light. The only sounds were the droning insects and the faint hum of the ceiling fans in each of their rooms. The sounds soothed Sara quickly into sleep, but Ian took much longer to slip into slumber, and when he finally did his dreams were far from restful.  
  
Sara woke from a sound sleep, startled into wakefulness by something. It took her foggy brain a moment to register she had heard a thump come from Ian's room. It had been followed by soft cursing. She got up and padded barefoot out of her room to tap on Ian's door. He opened the door a moment later.  
  
"Ian, are you alright," she asked, concerned. "I heard something…"  
  
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Sara," he said, looking thoroughly sheepish. "I had a…um…disturbing dream, and rolled out of bed."  
  
"Wanna talk about it?" she offered. "I know all about disturbing dreams," she said wryly, glancing pointedly at the Witchblade. He refused to meet her eyes, looking at her from under his eyebrows, his hair hiding his expression.  
  
"No, thank you, Sara," he said softly. "Good night." And he retreated politely but quickly, closing the door carefully. Sara stared at the closed door for a minute, an astonished look on her face, then went back to her own room. The rest of the night passed without incident. 


	8. Chapter 7

Another installment, and thank you again for your encouragement, those of you who review. It's been a long weekend, with lots of yard work and basement remodeling, and that means lots of time to think things up while my hands are busy doing things without needing all my brain. I hope the results please you. Let me know. And for all of you just getting caught back up after being gone to the convention, welcome back. I hope you had a great time, and those of you who are over at Delphi better let us in on all the juicy details!  
  
  
  
Sara awoke fully refreshed the next morning to the wonderful smell of bacon frying. She pulled on a light robe over her gown and emerged from her room to find Ian, already showered and dressed, his still-damp hair slicked back out of his eyes, standing over a frying pan. He glanced at her as she padded into the kitchen area and peered over his shoulder. He had bacon going in one pan and freshly grated potatoes in another. The wonderful smell of garlic reached her and she smiled.  
  
"It smells wonderful, Ian. What's in it?"  
  
"Good morning, Sara," he smiled back, handing over a hot cup of coffee. "Onions and garlic and a few other odds and ends, like parsley. I hope you'll like it."  
  
"A new recipe?"  
  
"I asked Allyson to teach me as much as she could in the last few weeks. She has an amazing catalog of recipes she has either made up herself or modified to suit her."  
  
"You really enjoy her company, don't you Ian," Sara said, sitting down at the table to watch Ian cook and sip her coffee.  
  
"Not as much as I enjoy yours," he said, meeting her eyes for a long moment, then returning his attention to the bacon. Sara was quiet for a minute or so, drinking her coffee thoughtfully. She knew Ian had feelings for her, maybe even loved her, but she hadn't managed to untangle her own feelings yet. So, as usual, she pushed the problem aside and changed the subject.  
  
"So, what was that dream you had that caused you to roll out of bed last night," she asked lightly. He glanced quickly at her, blushing slightly.  
  
"It was nothing important, Sara."  
  
"Were you battling in your sleep, Ian," she asked teasingly. He grinned suddenly.  
  
"That depends on how you define battle," he said slyly. She caught his drift and it was her turn to blush.  
  
"Ah, I see," she said, taking another sip of her coffee. He pulled the bacon and potatoes off the stove, split them up onto two plates, and brought them to the table. Sitting down across from Sara, he studied her while she began eating.  
  
"Sara," he said hesitantly, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."  
  
"It's not your fault, Ian," Sara assured him. "I'm just trying to get things straightened out in my head."  
  
"I don't mean to push you," he said softly.  
  
"You're not," she said earnestly. "Your patience is incredible, Ian, really it is." She sighed. "I just don't know if I'm ready for the risk of a relationship."  
  
"Why," he asked simply, and waited quietly while she thought about it.  
  
"I…I've lost so many people I cared about. I don't know if I can go through that again."  
  
"I understand, Sara," Ian said. "But do you want to close yourself off from ever knowing love again because of your fear?"  
  
"No, not forever. It's just…" She paused, frustrated because she couldn't find the words to explain.  
  
"You want someone who will outlast you," Ian guessed. "Someone who will be there for you until your last breath, and would never leave you."  
  
"Yeah," she said softly. They were both silent for a minute, eating and thinking.  
  
"Sara," Ian ventured. "I have the training to outlast you. And I will never leave you voluntarily."  
  
"I know, Ian," she replied softly. "But what if I lose you, and it was because you were protecting me? Then I would be alone again, and it would be my fault you were gone."  
  
"Not your fault, Sara," he said fiercely. "I make this choice freely, and you know I would die for you without hesitation, if that's what it came to." He took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer voice. "But I promise you I will do my best to live for you."  
  
She stared at him, taken aback at his intensity, and she could see clearly in his eyes he meant every word. He had never spoken so plainly of his feelings for her. She had never had someone so devoted to her, either, and the thought was a little scary. She found her mind swirling in confusion, wanting to reach out to him, and afraid at the same time.  
  
Suddenly, the Witchblade swirled to life, seizing this moment as the one to make her deal with her emotions. Her eyes blurred with tears as the Witchblade forced visions of all the people she had lost on her: her father, Maria, Danny, Joe. She buried her face in her hands, the tears spilling over, and her shoulders began to shake. Ian knew the 'Blade was showing her something, and knew she wasn't crying because of him, so he went to her side and wrapped her in his strong arms. Feeling completely safe for the first time in years and unable to delay it any longer, Sara finally broke down and mourned for those she had lost with great wracking sobs.  
  
Ian gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the couch by the television, settling them so she lay across his lap in his embrace, her head buried in his chest. He did not shush her or tell her it would be alright, but merely held her and let her finally work through all the grief and anger she had been suppressing for the most part for months. Killing Gallo had only taken the edge off her anger, but she had never allowed herself to truly work through the loss before. She had needed to keep it together. But now there was no reason to keep it together. Now she could let down her guard. Now she could begin to heal. The Witchblade swirled, then subsided, satisfied that its Wielder would now be able to regain her balance and deal with the coming trials she faced.  
  
When Sara finally stopped crying her voice was hoarse and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. There was a large damp spot on Ian's shirt, but he didn't care. As Sara sat up he reached over and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. His eyes held understanding, compassion, and love, and she smiled tentatively at him, feeling more at peace than she ever had before.  
  
"Thank you, Ian," she said simply, with a wealth of meaning in the words.  
  
"You are welcome, Sara," he replied softly. "This has been building in you for a long time."  
  
"Yeah, it has. I feel a lot better."  
  
"I am glad," he replied. She reached up and pushed dark silky curls out of his eyes, tracing one finger back down the side of his face and along his jaw line. His beard was long enough to not be prickly, but short enough she could still see the strength of his jaw and chin. She searched his eyes for a moment, then ran her fingers back up the side of his face again, tangling them in his hair and pulling his head down so she could capture his lips with hers. His eyes closed and he made a noise in his throat that was half growl, half moan. Giving in to her insistent lips and her grip in his hair, he lost himself in the kiss he had dreamed of but not dared hope would actually happen. Of its own accord his hand slipped into her hair to cup the back of her neck, instinct taking over where his experience failed him.  
  
Suddenly he sat back, dropping his hand from her neck and breaking off the kiss. Gritting his teeth and breathing hard as he fought for control of the fires that raged through his body, he would not meet her eyes. She looked at him, confused.  
  
"Ian, I thought you wanted this," she said tentatively, feeling hurt and lost by his apparent rejection, and embarrassed that she might have misjudged his feelings for her. He sprang to his feet and started pacing back and forth in front of the couch.  
  
"I do, Sara, believe me," he managed to respond with a steady voice despite the fact that he was shaking. He met her eyes, and she could see the desire, lust, and also concern for her. "More than anything I want you. But not like this. Not when you are still emotionally raw and vulnerable. I do not wish to take advantage of you, and I will not allow you to do something you may regret later." He stopped before her and knelt to take her hands, looking earnestly up at her. "I hope you can understand, and forgive me."  
  
She met his eyes, and he could see several emotions and thoughts chasing across her face. Finally she sighed.  
  
"You're right, Ian. I'm still not ready." She sighed. "You'll protect me even from myself, it seems."  
  
"I want you to be happy," he said, rising to his feet again. "I didn't think that sleeping with me at this point would have made you happy in the long run."  
  
"Thank you, Ian," Sara replied. "Thank you for being so strong." She reached out to hug him, and he stepped back, a ghost of a smile on his lips.  
  
"Sara, please," he said, taking another step back. "I'm not that strong. Will you be alright if I go for a run? I need to clear my head."  
  
"Of course," she responded. "I still have to do my morning stuff anyway." She tactfully did not specifically mention a shower or getting dressed. Ian looked wired tight enough as it was. He nodded and went out the door, not even bothering to put on his shoes before heading to the beach.  
  
Sara sat for a long time on the couch, thinking over everything that had happened, and what had almost happened. Ian was right to have stopped what she started. When they finally came together it should be when they were both a bit more stable. She was exhausted and emotionally wrung out from what the Witchblade had forced on her, and hadn't been thinking clearly. She had just wanted to be loved, to feel less alone, to fill the void in her heart with a quick fix. Ian had had the strength to love her as she needed to be loved, and not as she wanted. She wondered if she deserved him, especially after all those months she had treated him like crap. She wondered how he had gotten so wise.  
  
"He's full of surprises," Danny said from beside her, making her jump. She grabbed a cushion and threw it through him.  
  
"Jeeze, Danny! You scared the crap out of me."  
  
"Hey Pez," Danny responded. "You should go on vacation more often. I've never been to Mexico."  
  
"Enjoy it while you can," she replied in her usual smartass way.  
  
"He's good for you, Sara," Danny said. "And he's right, he is the one man who has a chance of outlasting you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Be careful, Sara," Danny warned. "Eventually it will come down to a test of loyalties, you or Irons. If you give him half a reason he'll throw away everything he has for you. But you better be ready for the consequences."  
  
"What consequences, Danny? And don't tell me you can't tell me."  
  
"Okay, I won't tell you. Just think about it, Sara."  
  
"Hey Danny?"  
  
"Yeah, Pez?" Danny said.  
  
"I'm sorry I got you killed. I miss you, partner."  
  
"It wasn't your fault," Danny assured her. "Like I said before, karma. It was my time, and there's nothing you could have done to change it."  
  
"Thanks, Danny."  
  
"You're welcome, partner." She blinked, and he was gone. She sighed and adjusted the cushions more comfortably, so she could curl up on her side and think. Somewhere in all her thinking she drifted off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Ian was jogging by the time he was off the patio, running up the driveway and down the road to the beach turnoff. Letting his body find a rhythm that he could sustain for a long period of time, he ran down the beach, just above the waterline where the sand was still wet enough to be solid. His lips still burned from her kiss, that incredible kiss, and it was all he could do to keep from turning and going back to finish what she started. He had waited so long for that moment, that to have to pull away had cost him dearly. He would never let her know how much it had cost him, because it would only make things worse. He ran to the end of the beach and back several times, until he felt calm enough to return to Sara's side. Covered in sweat and showing the beginnings of a sunburn, he turned off the beach and walked back to the house. 


	9. Chapter 8

This chapter took me by surprise, going in a completely different direction than I had intended. I hope it meets with your approval. Please let me know what you think. And for those of you desiring a little action (of both kinds) I have plans, such wicked plans… I may need to change my rating. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
When Ian got back from his run, Sara was asleep on the couch. He chose not to wake her, instead heading to the bathroom to slather on the sunblock he had neglected that morning. Too bad he had chosen a tank top today, it had exposed more of his skin. His burn would be reasonably bad, but nothing he couldn't handle. The aloe and vitamin E in the lotion would help ease the burn and speed healing. He'd be fine by tomorrow.  
  
He spent a few minutes cleaning up from breakfast, quietly enough to not wake Sara, then retreated to his room, leaving the door cracked so he could listen for Sara stirring. He then proceeded to do sets of pushups and situps, determined not to neglect his training routine. He had needed that run on the beach in more ways than one. Doing every exercise he could without equipment helped him think as well as keeping him toned.  
  
He had been right to cut off that kiss, he knew. Not just for her, but for him as well. When they came together he wanted to be sure it was because she wanted him, not just because she had a need and he was handy. If they ever were together. He had no idea how she would act, what she would feel, when she woke up. Ian tried not to think about it, but he wondered if, now that she was working on regaining her emotional stability, she would need him anymore. He had always been a tool to Irons, but he had felt that Sara liked him for himself. He didn't know if he could take it if she decided that's all he had been, a tool in her time of loneliness and need.  
  
Plagued by such depressing and disturbing thoughts, he pulled his carry-on bag out from the back of the closet and placed it on the bed. Unzipping the bag, he reached all the way to the bottom and pulled out a case. Inside the case, which he unlocked with a key from his pocket, were three automatic pistols, six clips, two boxes of ammo, several knives of various types and functions, and sheathes and holsters for each one. There were also cleaning kits, oils, and whetstones. He pulled out the first gun, a Glock-27 40 caliber, and took it apart, concentrating on the task of cleaning it as a means of putting his dark thoughts out of his mind.  
  
He became so deeply absorbed in his task that he didn't hear Sara approach, and she watched him from the doorway in silence for a few minutes. His head bent over his task, dark hair falling in curls to conceal his face from her view, he cleaned the barrel. She watched his long, strong fingers slide along the black cylinder, then he began to reassemble the gun carefully but with the ease of long practice. He had realized she was there a few seconds after she began watching, but continued his task, waiting for her to make the first move so he could judge her attitude towards him.  
  
As he pulled back the slide of the assembled weapon and dry-fired once to be sure everything was in working order again, she stepped into the room. He flicked on the safety and carefully put the gun down with the others in the case, then turned to her, waiting. She studied him for long moments, and he began to get nervous, but betrayed nothing of his growing inner turmoil. She smiled slightly at him and tried for humor to break the tension.  
  
"Damn, Ian. You take an arsenal on vacation?" she teased, but he took the question seriously.  
  
"I am here as your protector first and foremost," He reminded her gravely. "Whatever else I may be."  
  
"That explains why you disappeared at security check in the airport," she said.  
  
"Yes, lady Sara," he replied, looking down at the floor. He was still unsure where he stood with her.  
  
"Ian, please don't do that," she asked, coming over to his side and placing a finger under his chin lightly. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and she dropped her hand. "You're still my friend, aren't you?"  
  
"I am yours, Sara, for all time," he said simply. "I will try to be whatever you want me to be."  
  
"There's something bothering you, isn't there, Ian," she asked, wondering why he was acting so strangely.  
  
"After this morning, I am unsure as to where our relationship stands," he said. "I am…confused."  
  
"Oh," she said, understanding some of what he was thinking. She sat down on the bed next to him and got comfortable, and he turned so he could face her. "I'm not sure where our relationship is going, Ian," she told him honestly. "I'm still confused, and a little scared. But I am still your friend, and I respect you even more for going away this morning instead of taking advantage of the mess I was in. I hope you're not mad at me for putting you in that position."  
  
"Sara," he said, then paused to rally his thoughts. It was time for blunt honesty. "I was angry earlier, but I understand you did not mean to hurt me. I want you to want me for myself, and not just because I'm convenient. I tried to act as your friend this morning, because that is what you asked me to be, but it was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I did not want to leave, to break off what you started, because I have dreamed of it for so long, but I didn't want it that way. Not by default. And not something both of us would have regretted later. I want to be with you, to love you forever, to make you laugh and ease your tears, to watch over you and protect you so that you can come home safely to my arms. But I only want this if it is your wish too. I will do whatever you ask, Sara."  
  
She sat for long moments, thinking about what he had said, and remembered what Danny had told her. Perhaps now was the time to ask those questions.  
  
"Ian, if we were together, what about Irons? He'd find out somehow, and he would be pissed."  
  
"Yes, he would be very angry," Ian said, a ghost of remembered pain in his eyes. "I am not certain how he would react."  
  
"If it came down to it, if Irons ordered you never to see me again, what would happen?"  
  
"I will not leave you, Sara," he said earnestly, looking into her eyes. "No matter what happens, I will not break that promise."  
  
"So you would, what, quit your job with the most powerful man in the world and walk away?" She took his hand in both of hers. "Ian, are you sure you could do that? Would he let you?"  
  
"He would not just let me walk away," Ian said, considering carefully. "I am honestly unsure what would happen if it came down to a confrontation. He has raised me, made me what I am, given me training, sheltered and fed me. Above all, he has bred in me loyalty, and that will be a difficult bond to break. I am his tool, his servant, bred to obey him and protect him." He looked into her eyes. "But my heart, my soul, and my life are yours, and that is a bond even more difficult to break, I think. If it comes to a choice, Sara, I will not fail you."  
  
"What would Irons do after you left?" Sara asked. She was rocked by what he said, and having difficulty processing it all.  
  
"I am uncertain. He will no doubt wish to be revenged upon me for my defection, but I do not know what form that would take. Whether he would strike at me, or you." Ian realized for the first time their relationship could put Sara in great danger, and it shook him to the core, making his blood run cold. He was sure he could handle whatever Irons threw at him, but if he lost Sara, none of it would be worth it and his life would be over. She would be safer if he went back to being her shadow and nothing more.  
  
"Ian?" Sara said, sensing him pulling back. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"  
  
"I cannot ask you to face additional danger because of me, lady Sara," he said, pulling his hand from her grasp and moving away to stand staring at the ground in that pose she disliked so much. "I should never have… You don't…" He struggled for the words, then fell silent. His chest was painfully tight, and his heart beat rapidly. His eyes ached, but he had learned long ago to suppress his tears, and they did not fall now.  
  
"Ian," Sara said sharply, worried and a little frightened by his behavior. "Come sit down and talk to me. You're scaring me."  
  
"I should not, lady Sara," he said, and did not move.  
  
"Why not," she demanded, her fear beginning to turn to anger.  
  
"I do not wish to put you at risk," he said. "I cannot ask you to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder because of me."  
  
"Ian, do you really think I can't handle whatever Irons throws at me, especially with you by my side?" She rose and went over to him, looking into his eyes. "We'll handle it when the situation arises. Together."  
  
"I can't ask that of you, Sara," he protested.  
  
"So don't ask," she shot back. "It's my decision, okay? I don't want to live the rest of my life without love because I'm afraid," she repeated his words back to him. "Do you?" She blinked, realizing that she had just committed herself to a deeper relationship with him, and somehow she was no longer afraid.  
  
Ian stood, silent, struggling with himself. His desire for Sara warring with his need to protect her had him confused, struggling to find his path. Once his decision was made, for good or ill, there was no going back. He knew what Irons was capable of, and he feared for Sara's life. But he had never felt more real, more human, than those evenings they shared over dinner, and he would give his life for just one more night like that. But could he risk hers? His shoulders started to shake from the strain, his hands clenched tightly together before him, his eyes closed, as his thoughts circled frantically in his head.  
  
Sara reached out to him, compelled by the Witchblade, and laid the hand with the bracelet over his clasped hands. The Witchblade swirled and grew warm on her wrist. Eventually, his grip loosened, his shaking stopped, and he opened his eyes to gaze into hers. The Witchblade had shown him the path he must walk, and a sense of calm descended over him. Not his decision, he realized. The web the 'Blade wove included him as well, and he realized that, as he had once told Sara, he never had any control to begin with. He was meant for her, always had been.  
  
He fell to his knees before her, to her astonishment, and took her hands in his, gazing up into her eyes with his heart and soul mirrored there, naked for her to see.  
  
"Forgive me, Sara, for hesitating," he said. "I am yours, now and forever, no matter what happens." 


	10. Chapter 9 ***This chapter is NC-17. Ski...

*** Warning: This Chapter has explicit sexual situations. Don't read if this will bother you or you're underage! Skip to the next chapter and pick up from there***  
  
For all of you who wanted a ratings change, and for them to finally get it on, here you are. I think they've had enough time to get to know one another. I hope you all enjoy. Let me know. And thanks for the continued wonderful reviews. I'm really glad you are enjoying my work.  
  
  
  
"Ian, its alright," Sara said, looking down to where he knelt on the floor, holding her hands. "Please get up." Ian climbed to his feet, but did not relinquish his grasp on her hands. He looked searchingly into her eyes for a long minute, then smiled, satisfied by what he found. Suddenly Sara flinched, and looked down, her eyes widening at what she saw. Ian followed her gaze to watch in fascination as the Witchblade extended a silvery tendril across their joined hands, snaking around to the underside of his wrist. Guessing what was to come, he held perfectly still as it stabbed into his flesh, into the vein. The pain was greater than he expected, and accompanied by fiery heat, but he did not move for the minute the 'Blade was joined to him. Sara kept looking back from his face to his wrist, her eyes becoming panicked.  
  
"Relax, Sara," he said softly. "This is necessary."  
  
The tendril withdrew, retracting slowly back into the bracelet. The stone swirled redly one last time then faded to quiescence. He turned his hand over to gaze at the red mark, already scarring over, identical to the two on her wrist. Sara looked up at him, feeling something was different.  
  
"So, what does this mean," she asked, sitting down on the bed. "Something has changed."  
  
"We are connected through the Witchblade in a bond breakable only by death," he said, sitting down next to her. "Perhaps not even then. You will start to notice you can sense when I am near, as I can you."  
  
"That could be useful."  
  
"I believe Irons can no longer sense you," Ian ventured. "The connection should be severed. You didn't choose him."  
  
"That could be even more useful." She grinned. He ventured a tentative smile back. "Tell you what," she offered. "You pack the guns back away and I'll go get that sunburn lotion and help you put it on."  
  
"As you wish," he replied, grinning at last. The tension between them was broken finally. Ian swiftly packed away the guns, but did not lock the case this time. Now that Sara knew he had them, he would not deny her access. He put them back in the closet as Sara came back with the bottle of lotion in hand.  
  
"You need to take off your shirt if I'm going to do this properly," she said. He blushed a bit, but complied. She stopped short and looked him over, letting her eyes roam freely. She had known he had to be in good shape, but he was stunningly exceeding her expectations. Shoulders that were surprisingly broad for such a slender man, every muscle toned and defined, not an ounce of fat anywhere. He was the definition of male, strong and breathtakingly handsome. She was amazed that he had hidden this under all those layers of clothing. Then again, it had been winter. He looked down, unable to endure her blatant perusal of his form, a blush raging on his face. He had no experience with which to handle such a situation, no idea what to do about the simmering look in her eyes.  
  
"My God, Ian," Sara breathed reverently. "Adonis has nothing on you."  
  
"My lady," he asked, looking up, unsure of what she meant.  
  
"Do you have any clue just how gorgeous you are?" She saw the confusion in his eyes, and guessed not.  
  
"You find my body pleasing, my lady?" He sounded so innocent and unsure her heart melted.  
  
"Yes, Ian, I do," she said softly. She poured some lotion in her hand and started smoothing it down one arm slowly. Ian shivered at her touch, closing his eyes to concentrate on the sensation. The lotion was cool against the heat of his burned skin, but her fingers sent tingles through his body. She worked a generous portion of lotion into his arm, then slid her hands up to his shoulders, working the lotion gently into the damaged and parched flesh. The whole thing felt unreal to Ian, like his dream, and he feared to move and break the spell. She moved around to sit behind him to rub lotion into the burned semicircle above his shoulder blades, then worked her way downward, massaging the pale expanse of his back with strong fingertips, reversing just at his belt line to graze her fingernails back up.  
  
Ian sucked in a surprised breath as her nails skimmed up his back, having never felt anything like it. Sara ignored the scars there, running her nails back down and up again one more time, then moved back in front of him, coating his other arm, and finally his chest with the soothing lotion. She worked her way downwards, her fingers slipping through the soft curls of hair on his chest, to slide down to his sides and rest there. Slowly, he opened his eyes, gazing into her green ones, and gifted her with another of his breathtaking smiles.  
  
"Thank you, Sara," he said simply, but there was so much more meaning in his eyes. He dared to slip his hands around her waist and pull her closer. She leaned down to take his lips with hers, and his eyes closed again as he lost himself in her embrace. She pushed him back onto the bed, stretching out beside him without ever breaking the kiss. Her arm braced her up, her other hand tracing patterns up and down his chest. His hand wove into her hair at the base of her neck and he groaned in the back of his throat.  
  
It was Sara who broke off the kiss this time, smiling down at him. He cupped her cheeks with his hands gently, wonder and fire in his eyes, and traced the curve of her lower lip with his thumb.  
  
"Let's get more comfortable," she suggested with a grin. Rising for a moment, she flipped the ceiling fan on to high, then returned to the bed. Motioning for him to lay down in the center of the bed, resting his head on a pillow, she straddled his hips and pulled off her white nightgown. He sucked in a breath as her weight settled on his crotch, against the growing bulge there, and she revealed herself to him in all her magnificence. All she wore now was her underwear. Unsure what to do next, his hands shaking, he looked up at her, his angel, his Lady.  
  
"Sara," he said, his voice unsteady and deeper than normal. "I've never done this before." His confession took her by surprise.  
  
"You're kidding," she sat back, astonished. "Gorgeous guy like you, and you've never had sex?"  
  
"I was waiting for you," he replied simply, nervous now at her reaction. She smiled gently.  
  
"Then let me know if I go too fast for you," she replied, "and I'll show you what you've been waiting for."  
  
Just as she leaned back down over him to kiss him, his celphone rang. With a hiss of frustration he sat up and pulled the phone from his pocket and answered.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Ian, is something wrong with Sara?" Irons' tone was sharp with worry.  
  
"No, Sir," Ian responded.  
  
"Does she still have the Witchblade with her?"  
  
"Yes, sir. She is wearing it now," Ian confirmed.  
  
"Hm," Irons responded slowly, thinking hard. "Inform me the moment anything changes, Ian."  
  
The line clicked dead and Ian put away his cel with a growing grin.  
  
"It seems Mr. Irons is unable to sense the Witchblade any longer," he told Sara. "He had no idea if you were still wearing it or not. He could always sense it before."  
  
"This is good news," she said, grinning back at him and pushing him to lay flat again. "We should celebrate." Her grin turned wicked. His pulse quickened as she kissed him again, deep and sensual, flicking her tongue along his lips until he parted them. He groaned at the sensation of her tongue exploring her mouth, then he followed her example and explored her hot mouth. They kissed for long minutes, Sara wanting to take this slowly so Ian could enjoy his first time, but she was beginning to wonder if she could hold out. He was a really fast learner, and it was especially turning Sara on to have control of the situation. She was tough and independent, and too many of her past boyfriends had expected the lioness to become a kitten in the sack so they could prove their manliness. Ian was allowing her to direct him, having nothing to prove, content to let her lead, and it was an element of lovemaking she found stimulating.  
  
"You have me at a disadvantage, you know," she murmured against his lips. He looked up at her, and she grinned. She found she was doing a lot of that lately. Ian was good for her sense of humor.  
  
"How can I remedy the situation for you, my lady," he asked.  
  
"Well, you seem to have more clothes on than me, so what do you say we just strip and balance things out." Her fingers were already working on his belt, and it was soon on the floor. Her underwear followed in short order. It was a good thing Ian was working on stripping out of his own pants, because as they joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor he got his first look of Sara naked in all her glory, and his breath caught in his throat. It finally sunk in that this was no dream, because he knew he could never have imagined this. She was more perfect than he could ever have imagined. All her time in the gym left her lean and sculpted, but still shapely. Sara smiled at his awed gaze, knowing he must be thinking along the same lines as she was as she let her gaze travel down his strong thighs and calves, and back up to his hard, magnificent cock. Again, he exceeded expectation, and she found herself wanting to taste him.  
  
"Here, Ian," she said, pushing him gently. "Sit on the edge of the bed." She knelt before him and pushed his knees apart. He let her direct him, completely trusting, but he was totally unprepared for the shock that spiked through his groin as she sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth. She smiled around it as he groaned and threw his head back, his eyes closed, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he sought something to hold on to. As she moved her mouth up and down he groaned and panted, nearly unable to stand the exquisite pleasure she evoked with her ministrations. He could feel the tension building in him, but she stopped before it peaked.  
  
Joining him on the bed, she got him to lay back in the center of the bed again and climbed on top of him, sheathing his cock slowly in her moist heat. It had been a while for her, and she took her time getting used to his generous size. He looked up at her, chestnut hair flying around her head and shoulders, framing her beautiful face, her eyes closed as she savored the feeling of him sliding into her, her hands warm on his shoulders where she leaned on him for support. He reached up and caressed her face, then moved his hands down to her breasts, touching lightly, then more firmly when she smiled encouragingly, squeezing her nipples. He leaned up and captured one nipple in his mouth and she gasped, moaning as he bit lightly and sucked. He ran his other hand down her back, gently running his fingernails along her skin, and she shivered.  
  
She took his other hand and moved it down to her crotch, guiding him to her sensitive spot and showing him how she liked to be rubbed and teased. He again proved to be a quick study, and soon had her squirming on top of him, moaning, making it hard for her to hold back her climax. She wanted him to enjoy this, drawing it out as long as she could, so she concentrated on him to hold back. She began moving on his cock, gliding up and down, squeezing with her muscles, using her hands to pinch his nipples lightly and stroke along his chest. His breath came faster, and when she sensed he was on the edge, she allowed herself to climax, crying out and shuddering on top of him, and he came with her, moaning, pushed over the edge by her pulsing tightness. After long, shuddering moments, she collapsed across his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple, and they lay, trying to get their breathing back to normal.  
  
"Is it always like that," he asked after a time, awe in his voice. She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, playing with his silken curls.  
  
"It gets even better with practice," she said. "First times are special, and I'm lucky to have shared yours. But there is something to be said for knowing what your lover likes best, and being able to give it to them."  
  
"Impossible," he said, his tone serious but humor in his eyes. "It can't get better than that."  
  
"Is that a challenge, Mr. Nottingham," she asked archly, raising one eyebrow at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.  
  
"I believe it is, Ms. Pezzini," he replied, grinning.  
  
"I accept," she said, and spent the next few hours proving her case, much to Ian's delight. 


	11. Chapter 10

Sorry for keeping you waiting. It finally got really nice out here in Seattle, and I had tons to do in the yard all of a sudden, as well as the basement remodeling and taking care of Grama and, well, you get the idea. At least I didn't leave you at a cliffhanger for half a month, though I hadn't intended to keep you waiting at all. I promise things will get exciting next chapter, and I will try to finish this before the second season premier distracts me with new ideas and new directions. I really appreciate your feedback. I am so glad you are liking my work, and it helps me to hear it. All your comments have been very positive, much to my relief, and I thank you for them.  
  
  
  
When Sara and Ian finally showered, dressed and ventured back into the real world, Sara's stomach was growling. She had barely eaten any of the wonderful breakfast Ian had cooked, missed lunch entirely when she had fallen asleep on the couch, and now it was dinner time. She started poking around in the fridge and found the breakfast that Ian had wrapped up.  
  
"Ian, honey," she called over her shoulder to where Ian was messing with the tv. "Should we reheat what you cooked this morning?" He came over to peer into the fridge over her shoulder.  
  
"I'd like to cook you dinner, Sara," he offered. She turned and gave him a quick kiss, her arms around his waist. It felt so good to be near him, to be comfortable with him.  
  
"Are you sure? I feel bad that you cooked this morning and we didn't eat it."  
  
"We'll have it tomorrow morning," he assured her. "Besides, I like to cook for you. It's nice to be able to create something for a change, instead of always destroying things."  
  
"Oh," she was thoughtful for a moment. "I never thought of it like that." His views and ideas constantly surprised her. He would have such normal reactions to some things, and such unexpected reactions to others. He was still very much a mystery to her, but one she now looked forward to exploring for the rest of her life.  
  
"Would you like pork or seafood," he asked, and she got a wicked twinkle in her eye.  
  
"Don't you think we've had enough pork for one evening," she asked slyly. He grinned at her joke.  
  
"I will never be able to get enough of you, my dearest lady," he said gravely, leaning down to capture her lips. When they finally pulled apart, Sara was breathless and Ian had a self-satisfied smile on his face.  
  
"What's that grin for," she asked.  
  
"I am merely pleased to be able to display my study abilities for you, my lady. I have always strived to be an exceptionally fast learner."  
  
"Fast learner, indeed," she chuckled. "Like you didn't get lots of practice."  
  
"Practice, practice, practice," Ian replied, "is how you get to Carnegie Hall."  
  
"You may get to Carnegie Hall that way," Sara replied with a grin. "I take a cab."  
  
Laughing, Ian turned to making dinner and Sara tidied up a bit, then set the table out on the patio. After a wonderful dinner of shrimp salad and pork chops, since Sara hadn't actually picked one way or the other, they decided to go for a walk on the beach. Sara coated Ian thoroughly with sunblock, then he returned the favor, and they headed out. The sun would be setting in about half an hour, and Ian wanted to watch it set from the rocky point with Sara in his arms.  
  
"There are so many butterflies here," Sara commented as they walked. The delicate insects fluttered everywhere in a swirling display of colors unlike anything Sara had seen outside of a special hothouse enclosure at the zoo. She would never have thought to see so many butterflies all at once fluttering about free.  
  
"They're called mariposas in Spanish," Ian told her. They walked up the crescent of the shoreline in a comfortable silence broken by the occasional comment by one or the other of them on something they saw. Ian sat on the wet stone of the point's outcropping and pulled Sara across his lap. Together they watched the sun set in its incredible splendor, their hair stirred gently by the warm evening breeze. Sara sighed and snuggled closer into Ian's chest. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.  
  
"What are you thinking, my lady," he asked softly.  
  
"I am really glad you could come on vacation with me, Ian," she told him. "There was something in me that was broken, or at least damaged, and you helped heal it."  
  
"I would do anything to help you, Sara," he replied. "I am yours forever, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy."  
  
"All you have to do is not leave me, Ian," she replied.  
  
"I have promised you, Sara. I will keep that promise." He looked into her eyes as he said it, letting her see the truth of his words and his intentions.  
  
"Even against Irons," she asked. He nodded. "Oh, Ian. What are we going to do when we go back home?"  
  
"I will see you safely to your apartment, and then go immediately to report in to Irons. We'll still meet for dinner like usual. Perhaps even the occasional lunch. Things will settle down and we can take our time figuring out where to go from here."  
  
"Very practical," she said approvingly. "I definitely think its too soon for us to move in together. And I can't quite support both of us on my salary. I don't think Irons would keep you on if he found out about this."  
  
"He would be most displeased," Ian agreed. "But I don't get paid anyway."  
  
"You don't?" Sara was shocked, then realized she had never really thought about it.  
  
"I fall somewhere in between son and slave," Ian reminded her. "As such I do not receive a salary. But I have everything I need, and I can draw funds whenever something comes up in the course of my duties."  
  
"So," Sara said slowly, thinking. "Irons paid for the laptop and the clothes for the trip, the plane tickets, but you arranged it all?"  
  
"Actually, I have something amounting to a trust fund I can draw on for personal items, the occasional dinner out, books, and that sort of thing. Irons prefers not to be bothered with requests for money for such petty things, so he set this up for me years ago, and occasionally supplements it when I have particularly pleased him. It was a graduation gift of sorts, for completing my formal training, and he was quite generous. Over the years I have managed to grow it into a respectable amount. Lurking in the shadows around some of the world's leading businessmen and power-brokers has certain advantages."  
  
"What does 'respectable amount' mean," Sara asked, really curious now. She never would have pictured Ian as an investor, and it drove home how complex a man he really was. He was so innocent in some ways that she forgot how sophisticated he could be in others.  
  
"A few million dollars, give or take," Ian admitted, and her eyebrows went up. "And at least another half a million in cash he knows nothing about, though it could be more. I haven't counted it lately."  
  
"Whoa! Ian, that's a fortune," Sara said. She was having trouble absorbing his confession.  
  
"It is nothing compared to Irons," Ian reminded her. "I believe he gave me the original funds as a test, to see what I would do with it."  
  
"That sounds like him," Sara said wryly.  
  
"You need not worry that I would be a financial burden while seeking employment, my lady." He teased, then sobered. "Money is the least of our concerns."  
  
"What do you think he would do if he found out about us," she asked. Ian considered a long time.  
  
"He would be furious, of that I am sure. He hates not being in control of everything, which is why your unpredictability frustrates him so. He would rage, then eventually he would calm down and begin searching for a way to regain control again. Whether by attacking us directly by sending assassins after us, or by more subtle means, he would do everything in his not-inconsiderable power to get the Witchblade back under his control."  
  
"So, what would we do," Sara asked.  
  
"We have three options at that point," Ian replied promptly, warming to the challenge. He was good at strategy. "We run away and hope he doesn't find us, though he probably would eventually. We stand and fight, which would get very bloody, and tiring after a while. Or we strike a bargain of some sort."  
  
"What kind of bargain," Sara asked.  
  
"This will involve some explanations," Ian warned her. "Please bear with me for a few minutes."  
  
"Okay," she agreed.  
  
"The night of the Periculum you bonded with the Witchblade completely," Ian said. "This is indicated by the scars on your wrist where the 'Blade entered into your blood and bonded with you on a cellular level."  
  
"It what?" she asked, almost grasping what Ian was saying, but not quite, and freaking out a little. "Did it do that to you too?"  
  
"The 'Blade merely tasted me, to recognize me and connect with me on some levels. But I cannot wear or command the 'Blade, Sara. Only you can. What it did to you is far different. You have been changed, strengthened, on a cellular level. You may notice you haven't had the least bit of a cold since the Periculum. Your body has a far more advanced immune system, and your blood has healing properties. You have surmised that Irons, and Dominique Boucher, through their contacts with the Witchblade, have had far longer lifespans than is normal. And you may have noticed that since the Periculum Irons has begun to age visibly. Since the Witchblade controls the web of your life, and all who touch you, there was a purpose for these increased lifespans, but whatever purpose Irons had the 'Blade has determined he has fulfilled it, and withdrawn it's gift. Irons has been slowing the ageing somewhat with other means, but those means are increasingly ineffective. The only thing that can save him is the healing properties of your blood."  
  
"My blood?" Sara was shocked and horrified. It sounded like something out of a vampire flick.  
  
"Yes, Sara," Ian said sympathetically, understanding her reaction. The emotions reverberated through their link. "He will need it to live, and the properties within cannot be reproduced in any way. It gives you a strong bargaining tool. If we were to flee the city, and remain out of his reach long enough, he would die relatively quickly. Within a year, at most."  
  
"This is too much for me to absorb right now, Ian," she confessed. "I need to think this all through. Maybe we can talk more about it in the morning."  
  
"Take your time, Sara," Ian said gently. "I know this is strange for you. There's no need to worry about it right away." He hugged her gently and kissed her cheek. "Are you ready to go back?"  
  
"Yeah," she admitted.  
  
They rose to their feet and walked back up the beach together. The stars were bright above them, and the fireflies danced through the brush. The muted roar of the ocean as it ran up the sand was a soothing background noise to the chirps and buzzes of the night creatures. Sara pushed aside her worries for the future and enjoyed the moment. Just walking through the magical night with Ian's hand strong and reassuring in hers was all she needed to know at that moment. Ian felt her peace and smiled, glad she could relax even with the difficulties facing them in the future.  
  
It took Ian longer to fall asleep than Sara, and he watched her sleeping for almost an hour. She lay in the protective circle of his arms, her head on his shoulder, dark hair spilling over his arm and onto the pillow, one arm flung across his chest. He would have been well content to stay that way forever, he thought, before practicality inserted itself and he had to admit he'd rather be doing other, less peaceful things with her. He drifted to sleep finally thinking of many wicked ways he could wake her in the morning. 


	12. Chapter 11

I would have posted this sooner, tried on the 14th, but couldn't because of Fanfic's hardware failure. I am almost done with this, now. Should have the last chapter to post with this by the time Fanfic will let me. Thought you'd enjoy a little action before the end, though. I'm not too good at battle-scenes, so please keep that in mind, and as always, I welcome your comments. Thanks for reading!  
  
"What do you want to do today, Sara," Ian asked over breakfast. Ian had decided to wake her by the strategic application of ice cubes, starting with her feet, and they had not actually gotten out of bed for a few hours. Then they had showered together, and Sara had helped cook breakfast. They were both in cheerful moods, and eager to get out and explore.  
  
"I have to pick up presents," Sara said. "I can't go back empty-handed. And I thought I might find something pretty to wear. I hear the prices on silver are excellent here."  
  
"Anything manufactured will be more expensive," Ian told her. "Anything hand-made will be less, because labor is cheaper than machinery. For silver, we'll go to Puerto Vallarta's Old Town district, on the beach. You pick a table on the beach, order a drink, and the sellers come by with their trays of jewelry, armloads of blankets, whatever they can carry and sell. But for presents I think we should go up the coast to Rincón de Guayabitos. They have a cambiar there, a money changer, so we can get some pesos for our dollars. It will make shopping easier."  
  
""Will you help me bargain," she asked. "I've really never done anything like this before, and you speak Spanish way better than I do."  
  
"I would be happy to," he agreed, pleased that she was asking for his help. "I wanted to get something for Allyson as well."  
  
They finished breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and slathered sunblock on each other. Ian's burn was fading quickly to a nice deep tan, and Sara was pleased to be acquiring a nice shade of golden brown herself. Ian plopped her hat on her head, which was none the worse for it's dunking in the ocean, and she put his hair up in a ponytail for him. She loved the feel of his hair, silky and fine, and played with it every chance she got. His blond streak was becoming even lighter, more pronounced, she noted.  
  
They packed a few things into a medium-sized bag; some fruit, bottles of water, the sunblock. It would be easy to carry their purchases in with it's wide shoulder strap. They climbed into the car and Ian drove them out of Lo de Marcos and up the highway to Rincón.  
  
Rincón was more of a town, with many streets, lots of people out shopping, crossing the roads wherever and whenever it pleased them despite the cars. There was a post office and two different banks, and many stores that obviously catered to the tourist trade. The street was lined with parked cars on both sides, but Ian finally managed to find a spot near the center of town on a quieter side street and in the shade. There was a nice breeze from the ocean running down the streets, and the blue water could be glimpsed between buildings.  
  
Ian led Sara to the cambiar, where they both changed some money. The rate was as good as they were likely to get, even at the Lloyd's bank in Puerto Vallarta. They spent some time wandering about, Sara pausing to pick out several items, mostly t-shirts, that she thought her friends would like. Ian handled the exchanges while she watched. Most of the merchants knew some English, and the prices were most often set, so there was little bargaining. Sara was thoroughly enjoying the shopping. They had their arms full, and agreed it was time to go drop their purchases in the car and get some lunch.  
  
As Ian was closing the trunk and turning back to Sara she stumbled against the car, her hand going to the back of her neck. He felt the sharp sting of a dart in his arm and the sudden disorientation as the drug hit his system. Sara slid to the ground, unconscious, as Ian fought the drug's tranquilizing effects. It took him a few seconds to rally his defenses and push back the drug's effects, but his experience in the Black Dragons with just such drugs enabled him to stay conscious and on his feet.  
  
Those few precious seconds were all their attackers needed to screech their truck to a stop next to them, jump out and gather up Sara, and disappear down the road with a squeal of tires. Ian pulled the dart out of his arm as he watched them race off, cursing in three languages, and jumped into his own car to follow. He could feel Sara and knew he would not need to keep her in his sight to find her. Driving after them, he pulled out his celphone and called his contact in the Mexican military. After threatening two Captains and a Colonel, he finally got through to a General who might know what was going on and explained what had occurred.  
  
"Unfortunate, Mr. Nottingham," the General said in Spanish. "You know there has been unrest here within certain factions, but I have no idea why anyone would attack a tourist."  
  
"You know Ms. Pezzini is more than just a tourist," Ian all but growled. "She is a friend of Mr. Irons. If anything happens to her and you could have provided me aid, you know what will happen to your career."  
  
"Well," the General replied, suddenly deciding to be most cooperative, for Vorschlag held important contracts with the Mexican government and military, and it would not do to anger the man who pulled the strings. "There is a faction who believes we accept too much outside aid, especially for our weapons and military research. Their belief is that to accept these foreign contracts weakens us as a nation and independent country. They would have a reason to hold the woman hostage to use in negotiations with Mr. Irons, trying to force him to sever Vorschlag's contracts with us."  
  
"Thank you, General," Ian said. "This particular pack will cease to trouble you. Just keep your people out of my way." He hung up on the General, then called Irons.  
  
"We have a situation," Ian said as soon as Irons picked up. "An anti- foreigner faction has kidnapped Sara and plans to hold her hostage to persuade you to cease dealings with the Mexican military."  
  
"How did it happen, Ian," Irons demanded, his voice icy. "I understood that you were watching her."  
  
"She was shopping in Rincón and had returned to her car when she was hit by a tranquilizer dart. Within seconds a truck pulled up, they picked her up, and fled. I am in pursuit now."  
  
"I am very disappointed, Ian."  
  
"They will not harm her as long as they think they can use her, and by the time the realize their error they will be dead," Ian said.  
  
"I expect our fair lady back in one piece, Ian," Irons said sharply. "You know how important she is."  
  
"When they call with their demands, stall them," Ian advised. "It will be easier to retrieve Sara if she is awake and able to assist."  
  
"Do you think they know about the Witchblade, Ian," Irons suddenly asked.  
  
"I don't believe so," Ian answered.  
  
"Bring her back." The line went dead as Irons hung up. Ian put his phone on silent mode, just in case Irons chose to call for an update at a critical time, and continued to follow the truck that held Sara.  
  
When the truck turned off onto a dirt road, Ian drove past a few hundred yards around a curve, then pulled off to the side of the road and went to the trunk of the car. Out of habit, he kept a few things in case of an emergency just such as this. He pulled the nylon bag out and extracted a machine gun, two pistols, a long military-style knife, his long black jacket, and his gloves. Feeling much better now that he was properly equipped, he slipped back down the road carefully, searching for and finding the lone sentry near the beginning of the dirt road.  
  
Ian slipped through the vegetation along the entrance to the road, right up behind the sentry. The man never saw him, too involved with looking back the direction the truck had come from for pursuit. Ian rose up from behind and grabbed the man's head, snapping his neck in one quick, decisive move, then let him collapse to the ground. It was the work of a few moments to conceal the body in the brush, and Ian resumed his trek up the dirt road to rescue Sara.  
  
She was near, but still unconscious. Ian could feel the Witchblade's anger as it worked on burning the drug out of her system. They had given her a larger dose than he had gotten, and they would expect her to sleep until tomorrow, but Ian guessed she would be awake within the hour. He would be waiting.  
  
He moved stealthily up to the old house they had her in, eliminating three other sentries with cold efficiency as he circled the building. She was laid out on a cot in the largest room of the house. Most of the men were gathered in there, ignoring the hostage for the most part. There was little coming and going, except to the kitchen for cold cervezas and food. Ian worked his way into the house and perched up on the rafters in a corner, concealed by shadows.  
  
"How do you know you'll get through, Marco," one of the men was asking the man who was apparently their leader. He grinned.  
  
"If I don't, we kill her. Maybe he'll take us seriously next time, eh?" The others mostly laughed, a few looked uncomfortable and glanced at Sara's helpless form. Ian determined to kill the leader slowly. Very slowly. Marco picked up a celphone and dialed a number. Ian concentrated to hear better, and recognized Irons' secretary on the line.  
  
"I need to speak with Irons immediately," Marco said in English. He listened for a moment, then said, "I don't care if he's in an important meeting. Tell him I have his woman, and if I don't hear his voice on this line in five minutes I'll kill her. Understand?"  
  
Ian grinned, betting Irons would stall until the last second. At four minutes fifty seconds Irons came on the line. Ian could recognize the voice, but could not make out the words.  
  
"You have a beautiful woman here, Mr. Irons," Marco said. "If you ever wish to see her again alive, you will listen to me." Whatever Irons replied seemed to please Marco, because he calmed somewhat. "Wise decision," Marco responded. "It would be a shame to have any harm come to such a woman." Marco continued on at some length, waxing passionate about his cause, and demanding that Irons sever the contracts Vorschlag had with the Mexican government for the good of his beloved homeland. From the satisfied smirk on Marco's face, Irons must have agreed without hesitation. Ian could imagine what oily words he had used to convince Marco of his sincerity. Marco hung up the celphone and let out a triumphant whoop, his men joining in.  
  
"What happens to the woman now, Marco," one of the younger men asked. Ian recalled he had been one of those who had appeared to dislike the idea of harming Sara before.  
  
"We keep her here until we are sure the gringo has complied completely with our demands. She looks like she's be fun," Marco said with a leer. Ian nearly went for his throat right there, but schooled himself to patience. Sara was beginning to wake, and he began calling out to her mentally through their link.  
  
"Sara, don't move," Ian said gently into her mind.  
  
"Ian?" She thought back, holding perfectly still.  
  
"You're in danger, but I'm here," he reassured her. "We were attacked." He quickly described what had happened, and the current situation, to her.  
  
"What's our move," she asked him, carefully cracking open an eye to get her bearings.  
  
"I'm going to drop down into the middle of them. When I do, be ready to fight."  
  
"Ready," she thought back. The Witchblade glowed in anticipation.  
  
Ian dropped from the rafters behind Marco like some dark angel of death, his black coat fluttering out behind him like fearsome wings. He took out three men before anyone realized what was happening, before he even pulled out his guns. The room erupted into panicked confusion as some men fled and others pulled their own guns. Sara rose up from the cot, the Witchblade morphing into the sword and battle fury singing through her veins, accompanied by the angry hissing of the 'Blade and the metallic ping of bullets being deflected by the gauntlet. Men scattered before her rage, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades in their haste to flee. Sara met Ian in the middle and they fell into synch, back to back, taking on everyone foolish enough to remain. They moved together as if they had trained together, deadly and graceful.  
  
Marco had backed up against the wall, and he pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Ian. Ian saw, but could not dodge with Sara behind him because she would end up getting shot, and he didn't have time for anything else because Marco was already pulling the trigger. Instead he maneuvered to take the shot in his arm and not his chest. As the bullet ripped into his flesh he growled at the pain and stalked forward, slapping the gun out of Marco's hand, breaking half the man's fingers in the process. Sara turned to see what Ian was doing as the last man fell at her feet, having felt Ian's pain. She watched as Ian slammed his fist into the man's face several times, then snapped his neck. He stood over the man, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes wild, until Sara touched his shoulder.  
  
"Ian," she said softly as sanity returned to his eyes. He turned to look her over, making sure she was unharmed "You're hurt," Sara noted, feeling the raw burn of the wound in his arm through their link.  
  
"Forgive me, my lady," he begged, guilt and sorrow in his voice as he fell to his knees before her, head bowed. She stared at him in confusion.  
  
"Ian, get up," she said. "Forgive you for what?"  
  
"I should have prevented this whole incident," he said mournfully, still staring at the ground. "I should have protected you. You could have been killed."  
  
Figuring he wouldn't be getting up any time soon, she dropped to the floor to sit in front of him. Reaching out to tilt his head up with two fingers under his chin, she forced him to look into her eyes.  
  
"Ian, love, you did protect me. I didn't get killed. We won."  
  
"It should never have happened," he insisted. "If I had been watching over you properly…"  
  
"But you were," she interrupted firmly. "Ian, don't you wonder why the Witchblade didn't warn me of the danger back in town?"  
  
"I, ah, haven't had much time to think about it," he admitted. Now that she mentioned it, he did think that was strange.  
  
"Maybe this was meant to happen," Sara suggested. "Nothing in my life is coincidence, remember?"  
  
"Then," Ian said slowly, thinking hard and beginning to let go of his guilt, "the Witchblade wanted to teach you something."  
  
"I think so," she confirmed. "Maybe the 'Blade wanted us to test the strength of our new bond. Or learn how to fight together. Or maybe I was supposed to figure out the whole telepathy thing. Maybe something completely different. Whatever. The point is, you didn't fail. It was out of your hands."  
  
Ian looked up at her, the beginning of a smile brightening his face. He rose and pulled her to her feet, then pulled her into a fierce hug, wincing a bit from the bullet in his arm.  
  
"Let's get that wrapped before we do anything else," Sara said, starting to pull off his jacket. He caught her hands to stop her.  
  
"Some of the ones who ran may come back," he said. "I'll be fine until we get back to town."  
  
Ian," Sara said in her firmest tone. "I am not leaving until I get a look at that arm." Ian sighed, knowing it would be useless to try to argue with her, and went to sit on the edge of the cot. He shrugged off his jacket and let Sara poke at the wound, holding perfectly still.  
  
"The bullet is still in there," she said, frowning. She could still feel his pain through their link.  
  
"I know," he replied simply. "There's a medical kit in the car. You can dig it out there."  
  
"Okay," she agreed. She tore a strip off of the sheet on the cot and gently wrapped Ian's arm to slow the bleeding. He slung his long coat over the other shoulder, took her hand, and they walked out of the house together. 


	13. Final Chapter

Last chapter, Folks. Thanks so much for all your reviews and encouragement. I know it seems kinda sudden to end this way, but after last chapter, lounging around in the sun just seemed anti-climactic, so I sent them home. Hope you've enjoyed the product of my muse…  
  
Three days after the attack on Sara, Ian walked her home to her apartment. They both had wonderful new memories to carry with them, and a bond between them that was unshakeable. They had gone to the beach and bartered for silver jewelry in Puerto Vallarta, and had gone to see the old fort in San Blas that guarded against pirates roaming the Tres Marias islands in the 1700's. They had danced in the zocolo on Saturday night to the good- natured amusement of the Lo de Marcos residents, then walked beside the ocean beneath the stars. They had taken a river tour in a speed boat and seen the alligator farms. And they had spent many glorious hours in bed and out getting to know one another in every way possible.  
  
They had been mostly quiet on the trip back to New York, letting it sink in that the vacation was over and they would have to return to their lives and all that implied. Dante would be nasty as always, and mispronounce her name chronically. Irons would keep Ian busy with numerous tasks. But they would somehow continue what they had started. Ian would do his best to keep Irons unaware of the bond between himself and Sara, and Sara would try to pretend that everything was the same in her life. They would continue to meet at Sara's apartment in the evenings as often as possible, and take what comfort and pleasure they could from their stolen time.  
  
As Sara opened her door and let them in, she dumped her bags on the floor and rummaged quickly in a drawer. She turned back to Ian, a smile on her face, and pressed a small object into his hand. He looked down at the key resting in his palm, and as realization dawned his grin grew into a dazzling smile and his eyes burned with happiness.  
  
"Thank you, Sara," he said simply, not knowing the words to express what this gesture meant to him.  
  
"You shouldn't have to keep coming in through the window," she replied. "I think I'm gonna get that thing fixed." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, and he leaned down and touched his lips to hers, starting a kiss that lasted for several minutes.  
  
"I have something for you as well," he told her when they broke apart. He pulled a small, simple box out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. She opened it to find a silver box-chain with a lovely pendant on it. It was a single heart-shaped ruby just smaller than a dime, bordered about the edges with beautifully worked silver. Sara gasped.  
  
"Oh, Ian, it's beautiful!" She felt tears coming to her eyes.  
  
"I wanted you to know that no matter what happens, you are the keeper of my heart, and I will always love you," Ian told her softly.  
  
Oh, Ian," Sara sighed, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I love you too." She hugged him fiercely, and he ran a gentle hand down her hair. Then he took the chain from her fingers and fastened it around her neck.  
  
"Sara, I must go," Ian reminded her, taking her hands in his. "Irons is waiting for me. Impatiently, no doubt. But I'll return as soon as I can."  
  
"I'll keep an eye out for you around the city," she said. "Call me when you think you can make it for lunch or dinner or something."  
  
"I will." He looked deeply into her eyes, and all the longing and love he had for her was within his beautiful brown eyes. "Sleep well, my dearest lady." He turned in a swirl of black coat and was gone, pulling his gloves back on as he stalked out of her building and made his way through the dark city back to his master's side. And he vowed to himself that someday, somehow, he would find a way to be by her side forever, where he knew he belonged. Even if it meant breaking free of Irons. Or killing him. 


End file.
